


My Own Best Friend

by anwenwrites



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 44,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anwenwrites/pseuds/anwenwrites
Summary: Duncan King swore that he would never return to his childhood hometown in Australia. Yet somehow nine years later he ends up back in Sydney, only to make some painful discoveries about his mother that leave him with more questions than answers. Duncan's detective friend and mentor, Sukarno, who hails from the forests of Borneo, must help him crack the case. Meanwhile, Nadya Setiawan's father keeps her on a tight leash as she and Duncan grow closer than ever, and Nadya's best friend, Mikha Lestari, is overcome with grief and confusion after her first relationship suddenly ends, which leads to conflict between her and Nadya. While separated from each other, all three must learn to overcome a challenging time in their lives alone, and more importantly, to be their own best friend. Written in three points of view. Set two years after the end of The Forest Chose Me.
Kudos: 6





	1. Buried

DUNCAN POV

I’ve left it buried for long enough. 

The memories, the pain, the uncertainty, the heartache of simply  _ not knowing _ . Whatever happened to Mom’s belongings after she died? Her house? Her ratty old pickup truck that always smelled like her favorite air freshener? Uncle Jacob—rest his soul— and I had cleaned out her stuff the last time we were in Sydney, but then returned home to Canberra only to realize her favorite jewelry was missing. In our rush to prepare for her funeral, we must have forgotten. That day is still burned into my memory like the most painful third degree burn. I told Mom at her grave that I was sorry her landlord’s smoking killed her, and then swore I was never, ever going back to Sydney.

Except apparently Charles’ smoking also killed him, and now I  _ was  _ going back to Sydney. Today was supposed to be just a normal day. Wake up, eat breakfast with Rasi, go to work at Orangutan Rescue Project, and train the little orangutans to fend for themselves. That’s what I had been in the middle of doing this morning when my manager, Rinaldi, came out of his office to tell me there was a phone call for me.

I don’t remember much of the conversation aside from the woman on the other end saying, “Your mother’s former landlord has died, and he has left the house to you in his will.” The woman sounded kind, in her late fifties, and like she had made calls like this thousands of times. “ _ Track down Emily King’s son, and tell him the house goes to him. All my money, as laughable of a sum as it is, also goes to him. I’ve got no one else in my life to give it to, and I saw great things in that boy. Great things.  _ I quote him directly,” she continued. 

I’m not exactly sure how Charles’ lawyer tracked me down. Or what I’m going to do with the house. Or how Charles even remembered me in the first place. After all, I was just a depressed thirteen-year-old the last and only time he saw me. But I told the woman I would book my flight tonight and let her know when I would be there to see the house. Then I got off the phone and hit a stick against a tree for about ten minutes, simply dreading it all. Dreading seeing the house, the dilapidated scrap of a building that held so many painful memories. When I swore I was never going back, I meant it. Or at least I meant to mean it. 

My friends and I have lunch outside by the front entrance of ORP. I don’t say much during lunch; I only watch my friends, feeling a little outside of myself. Mikha is absentmindedly twirling her shiny black hair around her finger, barely touching her food. Nadya is sitting to my right, looking at me with concern in her eyes. We’ve been close for so long that she can read me like a book without me even saying anything. I’m not sure what we are, but we’re  _ some _ thing, for she rests her tiny body on my shoulder. The fabric of her pink hijab tickles my arm. Across from me, Rasi is sloppily eating a bowl of noodles, and Eric struggles to open a bottle of soda.

“What’s the matter, Duncan?” Mikha asks me. “You’re quiet today.” 

“He’s probably just quiet because Sukarno’s at his other job today,” teases Rasi. “They get pretty rowdy when they’re working together.”

Mikha sticks her tongue out at him. “You’re certainly one to talk. Look at you and Eric!”

Right on cue, Eric finally manages to open his soda, spraying it all over Rasi. 

“Hey!” Rasi complains, dumping his cup of water over Eric’s head. The two immediately begin chasing each other around. 

“Is something bothering you, Duncan?” asks Nadya. “If you have something on your mind, you can always tell us.”

“I got a phone call earlier this morning,” I say. “My mom’s landlord died, and he left the house to me in his will. So now I’m going to take a trip to Australia, to fix it up and sell it.” 

“Did you know the landlord?” asks Mikha. 

“I only met him once, right before Mom’s funeral. He was quite a heavy smoker. But apparently he had no one else to leave the house to. At least that’s what he said in his will.” 

“Wow,” says Nadya. She squeezes my hand. “This must be a lot for you to take in, Duncan.” 

“What must be?” Rasi reappears, Eric right on his heels. 

Mikha fills them in, and their mischievous smiles disappear. 

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Duncan,” says Rasi. “If you need to talk, I’m sure Natasha would be happy to help.” Natasha is his older sister who just moved back to town last month after completing her training to become a therapist. 

“Thanks,” I say. “I gotta admit, I’m pretty shaken up.”

“But at least you’ll make some extra money off the house,” says Rasi, clapping me on the shoulder. 

“How long will you be gone?” asks Eric. 

“I’m not sure,” I answer. “Hopefully it doesn’t take long to sell the house. But I honestly don’t know who would want  _ that  _ crappy thing.” 

“You could fix it up into a vacation home for yourself,” suggests Nadya. 

“I don’t know,” I say. “Lots of painful memories there.” 

Nadya frowns. “I understand. Ever since my mom died, my dad never took me back to her favorite restaurant. Even though it was my favorite too.” 

“I’ll take you there.” I smile at her. She rewards me with a smile in return. 

“We should all go!” Rasi exclaims.

“Yeah!!” Eric yells. 

“Can’t wait,” says Mikha, though she looks down at the grass as she says this. She hasn’t been herself since she and her ex-boyfriend Arif broke up last week.

“Are you suuure you can’t wait?” says Rasi, nudging her. 

“Yes, yes!” Mikha rolls her eyes and gets up. “I’ve gotta go back to work now, if we want to get out early enough to go out to dinner.” She packs up her barely-eaten lunch and hustles into the office. 

“What’s with  _ her? _ ” whispers Rasi once she’s gone. 

“She’s been having a hard time since she and Arif broke up,” says Nadya. “It was her first relationship.” 

“Perhaps a night out will cheer her up,” says Rasi. “I don’t like seeing her sad.”

“You just don’t like having to be the happy one,” jokes Eric. 

Rasi mock punches his arm. “Oh, would  _ you  _ like to be the happy one?” 

“Get me into pilot school,” says Eric. “Then I will be.”

“Guys, guys!” Nadya laughs. “We can  _ all  _ be the happy ones. We have each other!” 

“This,” I say. “I like this.” 

“Will you text Sukarno and ask if he can come to dinner tonight?” Rasi asks me. 

“Sure will. Hopefully he’s not too busy working on some case or something tonight.”

“I’ll text Natasha too!” Rasi pulls out his phone.

“You know, considering how much Sukarno hates people, I’m surprised he chose to be a detective of all things. He  _ has  _ to work with a team,” says Eric. 

I laugh. “The way he sees it is that  _ someone _ has to keep the bad people in check. And he’s the perfect person for the job.” 

“Well, we’re definitely safe with him around,” says Nadya. 

“If only he could have been around to keep Iwan in check,” says Rasi. 

“And Amy,” adds Eric. “Can’t believe that was two whole years ago. Now Mikha’s dad is our boss, and he’s the coolest ever. Some of the staff are...quite annoying”—Eric narrows his eyes at the twin girls, Naila and Yasmin, who bat their eyelashes and wave at him from across the lawn— “but at least no one here is evil now. Except for Dominic. That giant red ape almost flattened me against a tree the other day!”

Rasi rolls his eyes. “Only because you didn’t approach him properly.” 

“Oh, please,” says Eric, shoving Rasi. “Patrick and Carrie distracted me!”

“Sure, whatever,” says Rasi. 

My phone buzzes. It’s Sukarno, confirming he’s on for dinner tonight. 

“Sukarno’s coming,” I say. “We’ll swing by his office and pick him up after work.”


	2. The Happy Couple

MIKHA POV

  
  


“Mom still has your car,” my dad says to me in Indonesian as we are cleaning up his office to close ORP for the night. “Her conference is taking longer than she thought. Do you want me to give you a ride to the restaurant, or do you want to ride with your friends?” 

“Can you take me?” I ask. I need a break from my friends anyway, but I didn’t want to be rude and say no to going out altogether. 

“Of course. Let me just lock the gate and we’ll be on our way. Don’t want to keep your friends waiting!”

“No rush, Dad. I think they can wait a little bit.”

My dad frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I blurt, not meeting his eyes.

My dad crosses the room in an instant and gives me a hug. “I know this is really hard for you. We all have our first loves, and they almost never last. It’s sad, but it’s the truth. Even your old man here had a first love. When she left, I was really sad. But then I met your mom.” 

I can’t help but grin at that. My dad always knows what to say. 

As soon as he leaves, though, I feel the weight of the day come crashing down. I press my fingers to my temples as if forcing the tears back in. The last time I had closed down ORP with my dad, Arif had come to surprise me. He’d bought me a necklace he’d gotten really cheap, with stones in the shape of a turtle. It was his favorite animal. 

I used to wear that necklace with pride, to show the world I loved and was loved. Now I just hold it to my chest every night and cry. Still in love but no longer loved.

When my dad still hasn’t come back several minutes later, I decide to head out to find him. I’ve barely made it to the doorway, though, when I see a huge stack of papers lurching towards me. I hop out of the way, but not in time to avoid the collision.

“Um,  _ Encik  _ Rinaldi, what do I do with the—AAAH!” The papers slam into me and fly everywhere, revealing a guy about my age. He is tall and skinny, and clearly not very happy with me. 

“What a mess!” he exclaims, frowning at me as though he’s scolding me. 

I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t look at me! This mess is all your fault.”

“I’d say it’s an even fifty-fifty,” he replies, bending over and starting to gather the papers. I glare at him, but he doesn’t even notice. That is, until he looks up at me with that condescending frown again. “Aren’t you going to help?”

“Aren’t you going to use your manners?” I snap. “Or do you not  _ have  _ any?” 

The guy gathers the rest of the papers into a messy stack and straightens himself out. “I like to think I do,” he says, “but when and where I use them is up to me.”

“Maybe it would benefit you to use them with the boss’s daughter,” I glower. “If you care about your job, that is.” 

“Oh! Mikha!  _ Salaam.  _ I’m Kamal, your dad’s new secretary.” He looks at me expectantly.  _ What do you WANT? _

“Aren’t we going to shake hands?” he asks. 

I reluctantly hold my hand out to him. When we shake, he places his free hand over his chest and gives me a small nod. 

“How did you know my name?” I demand. 

“Your dad talks about you all the time,” says Kamal. 

Great. As if I needed this jerk with no filter to know all about me. 

“Kamal! Didn’t know you were still here.” My dad appears in the doorway.  _ Thank God.  _

“Oh, yes; Mikha and I were just getting better acquainted.” I shoot him a death glare, hoping he notices. 

“Well, that’s great.” My dad turns to me. “Sorry about the wait, kiddo. That unruly Surya somehow got over the gate, and I had to lure him back into the forest. You ready to go now?”

“Yes!” I exclaim, now suddenly much more eager to leave. Anything to get away from Kamal.

“All right,” my dad chuckles. “Don’t let me keep you any longer then.”

  
  
  


*******

“Just text me if you need a ride home,” my dad calls after me as he drops me off at the restaurant. 

“I will, thanks!” I sling my purse over my shoulder and pull the big wooden door open. I haven’t been here since I was a little kid. 

I scan the restaurant for my friends until I spot them in a booth in the corner. Nadya, Duncan, and Natasha sit on one side, and Rasi, Eric, and Sukarno on the other. Duncan and Nadya are sitting side by side, talking and laughing. A disgruntled-looking Sukarno sits across from Duncan, obviously trying to tell him something. Duncan has his arm around Nadya’s waist, and she is resting her head happily on his shoulder. 

At this sight I almost turn around and leave. That should be me there, me and Arif. Or at least someone who cares, which Arif obviously only pretended to. 

I make my way over to the booth. Not wanting to have to look at the happy couple all evening, I sit down next to Natasha. 

“Mikha!” she flashes me her perfectly straight, white smile. “It’s been forever. How are you?”

“Oh, you know. Just great! Congratulations on your therapist’s license.”

“Thank you! I’m really happy the hard work is finally paying off.” 

Across the table, I can see Rasi frowning at me. I raise my eyebrows at him. “What?”

Rasi leans across the table towards his sister. “Natasha, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but last week Mikha—”

“—put in some extra hours at work! That’s why I was running late. I almost fell asleep in my dad’s office!” I finish, wishing Rasi wouldn’t share my personal business.

“Is everything okay?” Natasha asks. 

“Yes, I’m fine, just tired,” I insist. I can tell she isn’t convinced.

The whole table falls silent. I glance around at my friends, who are all looking at me with concerned eyes.

“Um, so what else is new in everyone’s life?” I ask, trying to smooth over the awkwardness.

“Well,” begins Nadya. She smiles up at Duncan with shining eyes, and Duncan kisses her forehead. “Duncan and I are thinking about getting back together. Like officially.” 

“Oh my God, YESSS!” Rasi all but squeals. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long!”

The rest of our friends begin to applaud. I force my hands together and plaster a smile on my face.

“What made you decide to get back together after two years?” asks Eric. 

“Well,” begins Duncan, “Nadya and I have been spending more time together than ever. And we think we’re finally ready.”

“When you know, you know,” says Natasha, smiling at the happy couple. 

The waiter comes to take our order. After he leaves, Rasi and Eric fill us in on their latest misadventures, including Rasi accidentally live streaming Eric singing in the shower on his Instagram. Natasha tells us about how she got stuck in traffic and almost didn’t make it to her own house closing yesterday. And Sukarno tells us as much as his job allows about his latest case at work. As he is droning on about the suspicious disappearance of a woman’s belongings after a messy divorce, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. But as soon as I’m sure no one is watching, I slip out the door instead and call my dad to come take me home. 

*****

Later that night, I am watching random makeup tutorials when my phone buzzes. It’s Nadya. I snatch my phone off my bed and pick up.

“What’s up, Nadya?” I ask in Indonesian.

“I’m just checking in,” she says. “You left dinner and didn’t come back. Everyone was worried.” 

“I’m okay, Nadya. Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.” It’s true, but I can’t possibly say  _ I’m incredibly jealous of your loving relationship and I can’t stand to hear you talk about it as your lover smiles and cuddles you.  _

I am especially glad I held my tongue when she says, “I have to say, I was a bit disappointed that you left. I have a problem with my dad that I mentioned to the group, and I was really hoping for your input.”

“I didn’t know you were going to talk about that,” I say, fighting to keep the defensiveness out of my voice. “You can tell me now.”

Nadya sighs on the other end. “It didn’t go over too well when I told my dad that I was considering dating Duncan. He said that he was suspicious all along from the moment I introduced Duncan to him as a friend. Said he always knew there was more going on. Then he called me a liar.”

“Gosh, Nadya, I’m sorry,” I say, disturbed that Budi would treat her like this. Since he’d lost his wife, I had always known it would be difficult for him when Nadya found a boyfriend and spent less time at home, but I’d never known him to be mean.

Nadya asks, “What do you think I should do?” 

“Why are you asking me?” I say. “Clearly, I’m not good at relationships, given my current single status.”   
  


Nadya sighs again. “Can you focus on my situation for a moment, please?”

“Fine,” I say. “I don’t know. I think you just need to keep trying. Repeat yourself and stand up for yourself. Broken record, you know?”

“That’s what everyone else said,” replies Nadya. “But I feel like my dad just won’t listen.”

“He’s got to eventually,” I say. “You’re twenty-two years old. You’re entitled to have a life.”

“What do you think  _ your  _ dad would do if you wanted to marry a non-Muslim?” Nadya asks.

“He’d be fine with it,” I say. “Remember Nate? He was from America.” I cringe at the memory of my former co-worker standing me up. I haven’t heard from him for over a year now. 

“Well, I don’t have it so easy,” says Nadya wistfully. “I hope I don’t end up having to choose between Duncan and my dad.”

“Me too,” I say. “If it came to that, what do you think you’d do?”

“I don’t know. Move out maybe.”

“We could rent an apartment together!” I say. 

“That’s a good idea!” Nadya cries. I can imagine her face lighting up right along with her voice. “We could split the rent. Some of my old school friends know a few good places.”

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow and we’ll look at apartments together?” I suggest. 

“Perfect! My dad is working overtime tomorrow, so I don’t have to be home until late.”

“Okay. I can bring you home once we’re done too.”

“Mikha! Dad and I are going to bed!” my mom’s voice calls from the hallway.

“Goodnight!” I holler back. Then I say into the phone to Nadya, “I have to go. My parents are going to sleep.”

“Oh, okay, goodnight, Mikha! See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” I reply, then hang up. 

As soon as I hang up I hear a tap on my door. My ten-year-old brother Angga pokes his head in.

“Think they’re asleep yet?” he asks in his loud whisper that actually isn’t much quieter than regular talking.

“I doubt it,” I say. “You know how long Dad takes to brush his teeth.”

“Mikha, are you really going to be moving out soon?” my little brother looks at me with big, sad eyes.   
  


I frown. “Angga, you know it’s rude to eavesdrop on someone’s conversation. But yes, it’s possible.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s almost time for me to move out. And it’s  _ definitely  _ time for Nadya to move out.”

“Why is it time for her to move out?”   
  


I poke my brother in the ribs. “You always want to know  _ why _ ,” I tease. “It’s complicated. Not really something ten-year-olds should have to worry about.” Or anyone of any age for that matter. 

“Aw!” Angga complains. 

I sigh. “I just hope Nadya doesn’t bring Duncan over to the apartment.”

Angga looks at me, confused. “But I thought Duncan was your friend.”   
  
“He is,” I say. “But Angga, do you remember your friend Rizka? And how you felt when she told you to stop following her around at school?”

“Yeah,” Angga looks down at the floor. “It made me sad.”

“Well, that’s how I’ve been feeling since Arif and I broke up. And seeing Duncan and Nadya together is just really hard for me right now.”

“I don’t understand,” replies Angga. “Shouldn’t you be happy for them?”

Damn. Kids can be brutal. “I think it’s bedtime for ten-year-olds now,” I say, ushering him out the door.

“Nooooo!” protests Angga. “But I’m big now!”

“I know you are,” I say, “but you need your sleep so you can grow even bigger.”

“As big as a skyscraper!” shouts Angga as he bounds down the hall to his room. I hear my dad cough from inside his and my mom’s room.

I smile and shake my head. If one thing was certain, it was that once I moved out, I would actually be able to have uninterrupted nights of sleep once again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Office Confrontation

NADYA POV

“Nadya, could you check on Bunga?” Duncan calls after me as I’m about to head in for lunch. “I think she’s got a splinter.”

Poor thing! “Sure, where is she?” I ask. Duncan doesn’t answer, just motions for me to follow him into the woods. He leads me deeper into the forest than I expect, with no sign of Bunga. “Duncan?” I say.

He turns to me, worried. I could have sworn she was right—oof!” A red blur appears out of nowhere and clutches him around the waist. I can’t help but laugh. 

“You really got me there, Bunga,” says Duncan, picking up the young female orangutan and holding her right hand out to me. “Nadya’s just going to look at your splinter. We’re going to make it all better!” 

I examine Bunga’s hand. A decent-sized chunk of wood is embedded into the skin. I wince, remembering the time I got a splinter from a picnic table under my nail bed when I was four. 

“Aww, that must hurt,” I croon. Bunga whimpers, and I swear it’s as if she can understand me. “It isn’t that bad, though.” We head back to the cages where the babies sleep, and I rummage through the first-aid kit until I find the tweezers.

Bunga whimpers again. “I know these look scary, but they won’t hurt that much. And you will feel so much better,” I reassure her. I open and close the tweezers, showing her how they work. Bunga mimics the motion with her thumb and forefinger on her good hand.

“It never fails to amaze me how smart orangutans are,” Duncan remarks. 

“I know,” I say. “And so much like us.”

I pull out the splinter easily. Bunga cries a little bit, then grabs Duncan’s hand and quiets down.

Duncan grins at me. “Looks like you’ve got some competition.”

I laugh. “I’ll leave you two to it then. I’ve gotta go to lunch. Disinfectant is in the first aid kit.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


As I leave Duncan to disinfect Bunga’s wound, I check the time on my phone and sigh. My lunch break is already halfway over. I head inside, but as soon as I step into the break room, what I hear makes me instantly lose my appetite.

“I’m telling you, Rinaldi, that Duncan guy is up to no good!” my dad’s voice bellows from Rinaldi’s office. I quickly hide in the closet where we keep all the extra uniforms, listening from inside. 

My dad continues his tirade. “I think they should be kept as separate as possible at work. One day he’ll distract her while she’s dealing with an unruly orangutan, and she’ll end up dead just like her mother!” 

I sigh. He was the one who pushed me to work for ORP in the first place. I wanted to study literature.

“Please,” my dad begs, “keep them away from each other. I don’t want Nadya getting involved with someone as uncultured as Duncan. Every woman in my family for generations has married a Muslim man. And that tradition is not about to stop now.”

“I can’t do that, Budi,” answers Rinaldi. “They have to work together. And it’s not my place to police anyone’s interactions on the premises, as long as no one is being mistreated.”

My dad snaps, “Well, I think endangering Nadya’s life is mistreatment enough!” 

At that moment, a new voice says, “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. I may be overstepping my boundaries, but I’ve got plenty of single friends if you want me to introduce your daughter to some of them.”

_ WHAT?!  _ Who is this guy, and does he even know who I am?

Rinaldi says, “This is between me and Budi, I’m afraid. Thank you for doing all the paperwork. Now can you call the vet too, please?”

_ Oh.  _ It’s Rinaldi’s new secretary from Malaysia. Rinaldi hired him two weeks ago when he realized he couldn’t juggle managing ORP and doing all the paperwork on his own. I honestly can’t blame him. Rinaldi works way too hard for his age. But I’ve only seen his new secretary in passing, never once spoken to him. 

“I already called the vet,” says the secretary. “He’ll be here tomorrow at eleven.”

“Well, then, I’ll have more papers that need organizing in a bit. Thank you, Kamal.”

My dad’s voice seems to lighten right up at the sound of this name. “Wait, Kamal?”

“Yes?”

“Would you let me set you up on a blind date with my daughter? I must say I like your idea of setting her up, and you certainly seem very sharp.”

_ Please no. Please no. Please no. _

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I crack the door open ajar to watch the conversation. Kamal barely looks flustered by my dad’s unusual question, but he does think about it for a long moment. I study him from my hiding place. He is strikingly handsome, but I could never love someone superficial enough to care that much about his looks. I quickly shut the door before anyone notices me.

“How old is your daughter?” he asks my dad. “I’m twenty-three. I hope I’m not too old.”

“Nadya is twenty-two,” my dad replies. “That’s perfect.” There is a little pause in the conversation before my dad says, “Here is my number. Give me a call and we’ll plan this date out for some time next week.”

“And she’d be interested?”

I want to jump out of hiding and say no, but I know my dad would yell at me for eavesdropping. Still, I can’t believe he would set me up on a date behind my back. And I know I have no choice.

“Sure, she’s interested!” my dad manufactures a laugh. “I’ve got to get her out of the house more. She’s got to grow up, be free!” Little does Kamal or anyone else know that that’s the very thing my dad fears the most. 

“Hey, Rinaldi, I think Surya got loose again,” I hear Duncan’s voice come from the office. “Oh, um, hello, Budi.”

“Clearly this boy doesn’t know how to manage the orangutans very well, Rinaldi, considering they keep getting loose,” my dad barks.

“If you have something to say about me, you can just say it to me,  _ Mbak  _ Budi,” Duncan says flatly. 

_ Oh no _ . This can’t end well.

“And such a lack of manners, too!” exclaims my dad.

“You just addressed him as you would a young woman,” Kamal whispers to Duncan, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Rinaldi, I think you have made a mistake,” says Budi. “Clearly this boy should never have been promoted from filing papers. Perhaps Duncan and Kamal should switch jobs.”

I burst into tears, quickly covering my mouth with my hand to not make any noise. Terrorizing me at home is one thing, but trying to sabotage Duncan’s career is one step too far. 

“Budi, I can’t do that,” Rinaldi says calmly. “Duncan has been a wonderful, kind orangutan conservationist for two years here, and Kamal...is where he belongs right now.”

Rinaldi is more on my side than my own father. Wow. But it’s Duncan’s reaction that surprises me the most.

“How DARE you?!” Duncan explodes. “Budi, what do you have against me, besides my being the man who wants to come take your daughter away and actually make her happy for a change? What is so WRONG with you that you don’t want that for her?”

“Listen, kid—” my father snaps, but is interrupted by Rinaldi.

“I’m sorry, Budi, but it’s time for you to leave. I can’t have anyone upsetting my employees at work. Now if you’ll excuse me and Duncan, I need his help catching Surya.”

I head Duncan and Rinaldi’s footsteps as they file out of the office, followed by a door opening and closing.

“Ooh, when Nadya gets home, she’s gonna get it!” my dad stews. “She better be glad she’s not here right now.”

“Listen,  _ Encik  _ Budi, Rinaldi’s right,” Kamal says. “I don’t know anything about caring for orangutans. How about I just take Nadya out instead? Next week, at Sky Cafe?”

My dad takes a long breath and thinks a minute. “Well, okay,” he finally says. Then he fakes a happy voice. “I’ll let her know I have a surprise for her tonight, then. Won’t she be thrilled to finally have a decent date!” 

I wring my hands together to keep from punching the wall as Kamal escorts my dad outside. This is going to be a long week.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. It's Funny How People Change

MIKHA POV

“Isn’t this a beautiful day, Mikha?” Arif takes my hand and twirls me around. We’re at the park having a picnic, just like we do every Saturday. 

“Just gorgeous!” I giggle as I complete the spin and fall into my boyfriend’s arms, sighing happily into his chest. 

“I know something even more gorgeous,” Arif says, kissing my hair. He always does this. Whenever I mention anything having a positive trait, he always says that he knows something even more beautiful, more amazing, whatever trait I said this time. 

“You sweet-talker, you,” I reply with a huge smile on my face. 

“It’s just because I love you,” says Arif. “And I’m never leaving you.”

“Me neither,” I reply, and skip into the woods, pulling him behind me as we traipse into the eternity of love. 

********

My car horn alarm jerks me right out of the picnic scene and back into my messy, disheveled bed. I grab my phone and shut the alarm off. I hate this ringtone, but it’s the only thing that can even begin to convince me to leave the sanctity of my bed at a time like this. Plus it doesn’t make much sense to have the song that reminded me of Arif as my alarm anymore.

Well, now I’ve dreamt about my ex, I think to myself, wiping away the tears that must have fallen as I dreamt. Add that to the list of post-breakup things I’ve done now. First was devouring a pint of my favorite ice cream while crying into it. 

I compose myself, get dressed, and head into the kitchen for breakfast. But no one is in the kitchen. Hmm, that’s odd. My mom drops Angga off at school before going to people’s houses as a piano teacher, so it’s no surprise that they’re gone. My dad, however, is always in the kitchen cooking breakfast for me and himself by now. 

I glance at the clock. We have to be at work in an hour. 

I make myself a cup of tea and brew some extra strong coffee for my dad. He rarely wakes up late, so if he does, it means he couldn’t sleep and must be really tired. 

I wait for my tea to steep before pouring it into a mug, and pour a mug of coffee for my dad as well. He likes black coffee; I can’t stand coffee even with all the sugar in the world. 

Five minutes later, my dad ambles into the kitchen, still in his pajamas. I look at him, surprised.

“What’s going on, dad?” I ask. “Are you sick? Do you need me to stay at work later for you?”

“Nonsense,” replies my dad. “You and I both have today off.”

“We do?”

“Yep,” says my dad. “I planned a whole day for the two of us. You know, sort of a special father-daughter date.”

I feel a hint of a smile tug at my lips. No watching Duncan and Nadya be lovey-dovey today. “Thanks, Dad,” I say. “I really appreciate it.”

He sits down across from me and sips his coffee. “Ahh, just the way I like it.” He grins at me. “You used my favorite mug, too.”

I glance down at the mug, which I now realize is the Father’s Day mug I gave him years ago, with my five-year-old handprint on it. “I can’t believe it’s still good after all these years.”

“Good things made with love always last a long time,” he replies, getting up and taking eggs and various vegetables out of the fridge. “Will you grab the rice while I cut up these vegetables?”

“Sure thing,” I say, and get up to fetch the rice out of the cabinet. My dad begins chopping cucumbers with speed and finesse. 

“So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask. 

“Well,” my dad says, never taking his eyes off the cucumbers, “First I thought we’d go to the market together, since we’re using up the last of our vegetables right now. Then I thought I’d take you to lunch at that Chinese place you love so much. And then after lunch, how about a nature walk in the woods? No orangutans, no work. Just fun.”

“Sure, Dad. Sounds great,” I reply, sipping my tea. Now I’m actually looking forward to the day ahead of me. That hasn’t happened since before the breakup.

**********

After breakfast, my dad drives us to the market. It’s a hot, sunny day; the rainy season isn’t due for another month or so. The bright green trees bathed in the golden sunlight whip past me as I stare contemplatively out the window. The impending rainy season fills me with gloom, and reminds me just how quickly the sunny times can fly by, and be over with no warning. I am so lost in thought that I don’t even realize when we reach the market.

“We’re here, honey,” my dad says to me. I follow him out of the car and into the swarm of people and tables outside.

The market is the same as any other week. Fish, vegetables, crowds of people, the like. I’ve been coming to this market every week, before I could even walk. It’s nice to have a constant in my life, no matter how mundane. 

“Taufik! Good morning,” my dad exclaims. His lifelong friend, Taufik, is standing in front of us. He is a father of three in his fifties who I always remember being nice to me. 

“I’m well, Rinaldi. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.” Taufik and my father shake hands, and then I hold my hand out for Taufik to shake. 

“Good morning, Pak Taufik,” I say. 

“Mbak Mikha! You’re growing up to be a beautiful young lady. I always knew your father would raise you right.”

“Well, it was fifty percent Nur’s doing, too,” my dad chuckles. “At least.”

He has a point. When I was a kid, I stayed at home with my mom while my dad went to work. 

I politely excuse myself and leave my dad and Taufik to their conversation. I am no more than six meters away from them, though, when I spot Nadya.

“Hey, Mikha,” she says. “I thought you were at work.”

“My dad took the day off for both me and himself,” I explain. “Why aren’t you at work?”

“I called in sick. I felt so nervous this morning my stomach hurt. But I’m better now that I’m out and walking alone.”

“More trouble with your dad?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” Nadya replies. “And that’s not all. Mikha, my dad set me up on a blind date.”

“What? When? Did you go yet?” I demand, outraged. Budi must be really desperate to keep Nadya and Duncan apart. 

“Not yet,” says Nadya. “But he set me up yesterday. I heard the whole conversation at work. But when he told me last night I played dumb like I hadn’t eavesdropped.”

“Your dad is getting ridi—wait, at work?? Why was he there?”

“He came to work to tell your dad to keep me and Duncan apart,” Nadya’s eyes harden.

“That’s insane!” I blurt. 

“I know. And you’ll never guess who he set me up with.”

“Who?” I ask.

Nadya winces. “Kamal.”

I make a face. “Ugh, I met him the other day. He thinks he’s so hot.”

“That’s not all,” Nadya continues. “Kamal overheard my dad talking to your dad, and he offered to set me up with one of his friends. Then my dad asked if he could set me up with Kamal himself. And Kamal agreed.”

“Ugh. He’s so obnoxious.”

“I know, right? He’s totally narcissistic,” Nadya says. 

“Are you going to go on the date?”

“I feel like I have no choice,” Nadya says sadly. “But it doesn’t mean anything. Of course not.”

“What does Duncan think of all this?” I ask, then immediately wish I hadn’t. 

For the first time in this entire conversation, Nadya cracks a smile. “He is adorably jealous.”

“That’s nice,” I say, but I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. I don’t want Nadya to end up with someone as emotionless and calculating as Kamal, but I don’t exactly want her to have true love while I don’t, either. It makes me feel bad about myself.

“Are you okay, Mikha?” Nadya asks. “You seem a little...tense whenever I talk about Duncan.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” I lie. “I just don’t like to think of you two being separated. It makes me sad.” I hate how fake I’m being, but it’s better than admitting that I’m so pathetic I can’t be happy for my best friend.

“You don’t have to worry about that.” Nadya puts a hand on my arm. “We will stop that from happening. One way or another.”

********

“The waitress came while you were in the bathroom,” my dad tells me as I sit back down at the Chinese restaurant. “I ordered you your favorite tea and that chicken dish you love.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I say. “Also, I ran into Nadya at the market. She told me she called in sick because she felt so anxious her stomach hurt this morning.”

My dad shakes his head. “Poor girl. Budi has really gone off the deep end.” He says this one expression in English, then switches back to Indonesian. “I know it’s hard watching your kids grow up sometimes. My heart broke for you when you and Arif ended things.” I grimace at the memory, and fight back tears. 

“But you have to let your kids go some time,” my dad continues. “I think it’s extra hard for Budi because Nadya is turning out to be so different from her mother. Poor man must feel like he has nothing left of his wife. And a child growing up is an adjustment no matter what. The only constant in his life for thirty years has been the fire station and his fellow firefighters.”

“I feel bad for him,” I say. “But that doesn’t justify setting Nadya up on a blind date. With Kamal, of all people.”

My dad raises his eyebrows. “I thought you and Kamal were friends. You seemed pretty friendly the other day.”

Ugh. “Definitely not,” I say. ““I don’t trust him at all. I think, as the new guy, he just wants to get a kick out of stealing Nadya from a long-time employee. He seems like the kind of guy who would do that.”

“He’s a little too confident sometimes,” my dad concedes, “but I wouldn’t go that far. He’s an earnest worker who knows how to fend for himself. He’s a good person, Mikha. Sometimes we just have to see past the bad in people.”

Right on cue, the waitress comes by with our drinks, but accidentally spills my dad’s water in his lap.

“I am so sorry!” she exclaims, handing him a wad of napkins. My dad begins drying himself off.

“That’s quite all right,” he reassures her. “You’re just doing your job. Accidents happen.” He smiles first at her, then at me. 

The waitress hurries off to get my dad another water, and he continues, “Besides, I don’t think Budi will be able to separate Duncan and Nadya, no matter how hard he tries.”

“You really think that’s why he’s trying to set Nadya up on a blind date? To keep her apart from Duncan?”

“Your grandfather did the same thing to your mom,” my dad says.

“Wait, really?” I try to imagine my caring grandfather acting like Budi, and fail completely.

“He wasn’t nearly as bad as Budi,” my dad explains, obviously reading my expression. “It was more funny than anything else, really. His efforts to convince his daughter that I was no good for her were so painfully obvious. But now your grandfather can’t get enough of me.”

I think of my good-natured grandfather showing up early to every family event just to hear one of my dad’s many stories about saving orangutans, and laugh again. “It’s funny how people change, isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” my dad agrees. “I just hope Budi gets the wake-up call he needs sooner rather than later. Even as his friend of thirty years, I don’t think I can be the one to give him that wake-up call. He won’t listen to me.”

“Hopefully Nadya doesn’t have to be the one to do it,” I say. But I worry for her, because I suspect she very well may be. And I can tell it isn’t going to be pretty.


	5. Misunderstood

NADYA POV

“Oh great _ , now _ where did I put it?!” Duncan goes red and fumbles around in his pockets, making me giggle. I don’t think he realizes how easily he gets embarrassed. Or how cute he is when he does. 

Duncan digs anxiously into his last pocket and his face lights up. “There they are!” he exclaims, pulling out an envelope. He opens it and takes out a long, white strip of paper, which he hands to me. I read the small print on it, and realize it’s...a plane ticket...to Australia?

“Duncan, what is this for?” I ask. Surely he can’t expect me to run off with him. I shudder, thinking about how my dad would stop at nothing to hunt me down if I ever did run off.

Duncan says, “Nadya, I’d like you to come with me to my old house in Australia. This trip is going to be...hard, to say the least, and I could really use the moral support.” 

I sigh. I want to go. I want to be there for Duncan. I want to get away from my dad, even for just a while. But I feel stuck. Trapped. 

I avoid meeting his eyes and say, “Duncan, you know I will always help you in any way that I can. But my dad...I just don’t know how this will go over with him.” I peek up at him through my eyelashes, knowing it’s not what he wanted to hear. 

Duncan narrows his eyes. The very sight fills me with dread. 

“Come on, he can’t control your life forever!” he insists. “You should be able to go  _ some _ where without asking his permission.”

“I know,” I agree sadly. “It’s not fair at all.”

“Well then, you do what is fair. Tell him you’re going to Australia with me and you’ll be back when you’ll be back.”

I shudder, horrified at the idea. It’s unfathomable, actually. My dad’s never been Duncan’s biggest fan to begin with, but ever since I told him that Duncan and I wanted to make things official, I can’t even go to Mikha’s without him calling me every hour to make sure I’m really with her. I have never lied to my dad (apart from failing to ever mention Duncan to him when we were together the first time), but the more he acts like this, the more I feel like I have to. 

“Please.” Duncan looks at me with his gentle honey brown eyes, and his lip quivers.

At this sight, tears prick my own eyes, and I cave. “All right. I’ll come.”

“Oh, Nadya, thank you!” Duncan crushes me to his chest. 

“Can’t...breathe,” I wheeze, struggling to loosen his grip just a little.

“Oh! Sorry.” Duncan releases me and strokes my cheek instead. “You mean the world to me, Nadya.”   
  


“And you to me,” I say, but I look at him sadly. I have no idea if I’m actually going to be able to follow through with this or not. 

“Will you tell your dad now?” Duncan asks me.

I hesitate. “Um, yes. He should be home from the fire station by now.”

Duncan kisses me quickly before squeezing my hand goodbye. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will,” I promise, then start the ten-minute walk from his place to mine. 

As soon as I reach the house, a sense of dread fills my entire body. The house suddenly looks huge, and the shadows of the trees are elongated by the setting sun, making me feel as though they are about to swallow me up. A chill creeps through me, and I look down at my hands. Am I...shaking?

“Mikha’s dad doesn’t make her feel this way,” I mutter to myself as I brave the short walk down the driveway to the doorstep. 

With clammy hands, I open the door and step inside. “Dad, I’m home!” I call in Indonesian.

“In the kitchen!” he replies.

He doesn’t sound angry that I wasn’t home when he came home, at least. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

I go into the kitchen to find my dad poring over the newspaper. He looks up when he sees me, his severe dark eyes boring into mine. I shrink, even though he hasn’t even said anything to me yet.

“How was your day?” he asks. It sounds more like an inquiry than genuine interest.

“G-good,” I reply, starting to shake again. Thankfully he doesn’t notice, for he gets up to retrieve two plates from the cabinet. He begins to pile them with rice, meat, and vegetables.

“Not too much for me, Dad,” I say. My stomach is in such a knot I know I won’t be able to eat. I don’t want to waste it.

“But it’s your favorite,” he says. “ _ Nasi goreng. _ Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, Dad,” I say quickly. I don’t want him to see how nervous I am.

“If you say so.” His lip curls into a smile. “Just like your mother. Never lets on when there’s  _ definitely  _ something on her mind.”

I’m used to comments like this. My dad never did get over my mom. And how could I blame him? One morning, she was packing my lunch and kissing him goodbye as he left for the fire station, and that afternoon, her body was left mangled after the orangutan attack. We never got to say goodbye. Sometimes I still can’t believe she’s really gone.

“So, how is Duncan?” my dad asks, setting my plate in front of me.

I bite my lip. He’s trying to act interested, but I can tell he’s just trying to find out whether we’ve become boyfriend and girlfriend yet. 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that, Dad,” I say, my palms sweating harder than ever. I swallow hard and continue, “Duncan’s mom’s old landlord died and left the house to him. So Duncan’s going to go to Australia to fix it up. And he wants me to—I mean, I’m going with him.”

“LIKE HELL YOU ARE!” my dad explodes suddenly, making me jump and nearly stabbing me with the fork he was just about to place in front of me.

“Dad! My face!” I cry.

“I can’t believe you!” he yells, slamming the fork on the table. “You come home late, you don’t want the dinner I spent an hour making for you, and now you think you’re running off to Australia with that dope?!”

My first instinct is to defend Duncan. “Duncan is not a—”

“You think you can just leave the country without my permission?” my dad demands.

“I didn’t ask your permission because I knew you’d say no!” I cry, tears welling up in my eyes and finally spilling over. “Besides, I’ve already got the ticket.” I pull the ticket out of my pocket to show him, and he glares at me.

“You will return that thing tonight,” he implores, “and then you will not see or speak to Duncan outside of work.”

I’m furious at my dad, but I know when I’ve been beat. “Okay, Dad. I’ll go after dinner.”

We eat in silence. The only sounds are those of my dad’s fork scraping aggressively against his plate, piercing the air. Even though I feel like I’m going to throw up, I somehow manage to clear my entire plate, probably out of fear of what else my dad might say if I don’t eat the meal he’s fixed.

My dad finishes his last mouthful of rice and pushes his chair back. The chair makes a loud screeching sound.

“You go return that plane ticket,” he says quietly, which somehow scares me even more than the yelling. “I’ll clean up.”

I hurry out the door and text Duncan to come to me. My legs are shaking so bad I can’t possibly walk all the way to his place and back. I can’t believe my dad would leave me to go walk in the dark at this hour either.

Five minutes later Duncan stumbles out of the woods, sweaty and out of breath. He must have run. And taken his forest shortcut that I can never figure out.

He takes in my trembling frame, and his eyes go wide with concern. 

“Nadya, what’s going on?” he asks, reaching me in two strides and taking me gently into his arms. 

I tell him the whole story. His brown eyes harden into daggers. “I could kill him,” he spits.

I shush him. “Don’t let my dad hear you say that. He  _ will  _ use it against you.”

“I don’t care,” Duncan growls. 

I stare hard at him, annoyed. He shouldn’t have been pushing me to come to Australia in the first place. I told him my dad would say no. 

“You need to care a little,” I say. “You’re pushing me into doing things I know will make him mad, and you won’t listen to me when I tell you so.”

Duncan takes a step back, hurt. “How can you say that?”

“Can’t you understand, Duncan? You’re playing with fire. If you keep this up, it could mean bad things for both of us.”

“You know he’s the unreasonable one, so how can you blame me?” he demands.

“Please, Duncan, I can’t deal with any more guilt right now,” I plead.

“If that’s how you want it,” he snaps. 

I feel my cheeks get damp yet again. “I’m sorry, Duncan.”

“I take it this means you’re not coming to Australia, then.”

“That’s right,” I say, producing the plane ticket out of my pocket and pressing it into his hand.

“I can’t believe this,” he snaps. “Your dad treats you horrendously, and I’m the one who suffers.”

Then he turns his back on me and sprints into the forest without kissing me goodbye. I watch helplessly as he disappears into the endless woods, now-angry tears distorting my vision. It’s bad enough that my dad won’t let me see Duncan, but I expected that. Knew it even. But Duncan refusing to listen to me and getting mad at me for his own stubbornness is far worse. I thought at least he would understand. He always had until now.

  
  
  
  
  



	6. The Box

DUNCAN POV

“What. The actual hell. Are those things,” Sukarno says flatly, gawking wordlessly at two big planes parked in front of their gates. 

“Those are aeroplanes,” I say, unable to hold back a laugh. Wow. Even two years later there are still basic things Sukarno doesn’t know about civilized life.

“Oh yeah. I know what those are. Guess I just wasn’t expecting them to be so big in real life.” 

It's crazy how we can end up in situations we once never would have thought possible. Two years ago, on my very first day at ORP, I ran into this unkempt, human-hating Javanese man who lived like a wild animal. His first words to me were  _ Are you a human? _ . He was terrified of humans. His older brother killed his younger brother in a fit of rage, and then he killed himself. Because of this, Sukarno spent forty-something years living alone in the forests of Borneo believing all humans were inherently evil. That is, until I ran into him in the forest and we developed what eventually became the father-son bond we have today. Though I often felt like  _ I  _ was the father figure when he first joined me and my friends in the civilized life. I had to explain  _ everything  _ to him. Transportation, toilets, electricity, you name it, he had known nothing about it. 

And now here he is with me at the airport, a civilized, businesslike detective, intent on tracking down all the bad people in the world and bringing them to justice. Today, he is coming along to Sydney with me to give me moral support. After Nadya said she couldn't come, I asked Sukarno instead, and he immediately said yes and whisked away to the tiny library room which had long since been converted into his bedroom to pack. I looked at his suitcase and proclaimed that he was pretty well prepared. But now it's apparent that I neglected to talk to him about the very important phenomenon of planes being much bigger in real life than on television. I laugh to myself. Sukarno's fascination with the planes is almost childlike, for all he pretends to be so tough.

_ Eric would love the planes, too,  _ I think. I pull out my phone and snap a picture of the two large planes Sukarno is still gawking at in awe. For some reason Eric likes looking at the engines, so I snap pictures of those, too. The plane on my left has only two engines, but the one on my right has four. And last but not least, I snap pictures of the cockpit windows and hit send.

Eric replies almost immediately:  _ Whoa, awesome pics! Hopefully I’ll be behind those cockpit windows soon. _

I put my phone away and tap Sukarno’s shoulder. “Come on, we’ve gotta get ready for boarding soon.”

“You mean we’re going to be on an... _ aeroplane  _ soon?” Sukarno’s mouth falls open. 

“We sure are,” I smile. “We’re gonna be flying.”

“But what if it crashes?” Sukarno exclaims as we make our way to our gate. A young couple with toddlers throw very confused glares in our direction. They must be baffled by the sight of me, a twenty-two year old, explaining how aeroplanes work to a man well into his fifties. And I’m sure they don’t want us upsetting their children.

“Let’s not think about that,” I say, trying to diffuse the situation and avoid scaring the toddlers. Then, once I’m sure they’re looking away, I whisper to Sukarno, “You can’t say stuff like that in an airport. People will think you’re trying to crash the plane.”

“Oh,” Sukarno replies. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

I should have prepared him better. The thing is, now that he’s been a detective—who takes his job  _ very  _ seriously—for almost a year, I often forget there’s still so much about civilized life that he doesn’t know. Most people don't go to an airport every day, after all.

“Excited to go on your first plane trip, Sukarno?” I ask my friend once we have boarded the plane and are safely strapped into our seats. 

“I could do without being cramped up so close to so many people,” he grunts, “but I’m happy to accompany you on this journey, Duncan.”

“I’m grateful you’re with me, but it’s not the same as having Nadya here,” I admit.

Sukarno rolls his eyes. "Sure, sure, nothing beats Nadya. But you seem so mad at her."

I remember our last conversation, when she'd bailed out of coming to Australia with me, and my hands curl into fists. "You know what?" I say. "I am. She may not have the best relationship with her dad, but she can’t even put that aside to support me, who has no parents at all anymore, in my greatest time of need? I’m always there for her when  _ her  _ dad makes some snide comment about how someone as uneducated as me has no business being with his daughter.”

“Her dad sounds like a real piece of work,” says Sukarno. “I wish there were a law against treating your child the way he treats her. But he never lays a hand on her, and she’s legally no longer a child, so that complicates things.” He shakes his head sadly. “I still don’t understand why she doesn’t just come live with us, though.”

“She knows she’s welcome.” I roll my eyes. “She just doesn’t believe in living with anyone she dates until she’s married.”

“Well, perhaps you can change her—WHOA!!” Sukarno exclaims as our plane finally takes off. He gazes out the window in complete shock, his eyes wide.

I laugh, thinking of the first time I went on a plane with Uncle Jacob. When I was fourteen, he took me with him on a business trip to Malaysia. When the plane took off, I was so in awe I didn't tear my eyes away from the window for twenty minutes.

“I know, right? " I say. "It’s pretty amazing, but I think we better keep the noise to a minimum. There are other passengers on here.”

“Whoa,” Sukarno repeats in a hushed whisper. I fish my phone out of my pocket to take a video.

Sukarno snorts. “You kids, always documenting everything on your phones. You miss the beauty in the moments themselves. I thought phones were for making calls.”

“I'm doing it for Eric. He loves flying,” I explain. “But I guess you’re right. I don’t want to miss this.”

I put my phone back in my pocket and gaze out the window as we make our way into the cloudless blue sky. The coast of Borneo becomes a green speck in the distance before finally disappearing altogether. I right myself in my seat and sigh. My journey back to Australia has begun.

*************

“Well, this is it,” I say to Sukarno the next day as I park the rental car in the tiny driveway of my childhood home. “Doesn’t look like it’s changed much. Except it’s even more beaten up than before.”

What a sight the house is, indeed. The white paint is dirty, faded, and chipping away in more places than not. The shillings are all coming off of the roof, and the welcome mat on the doorstep is all chewed up. I told myself I wouldn’t cry when I saw the house, but one look at it and it’s already becoming blurry in my eyes.

“Duncan? You okay?” Sukarno claps a hand on my back, startling me out of my sadness.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” I lie. “Let’s just see what needs fixing.”

I fish the key that we had just gotten from the realtor out of my pocket and fumble with the doorknob. That old thing always wobbled, threatening to come off at any moment. I know how to work it, though, and open the door in seconds. Just like the last time I was here, the stench of cigarette smoke punctures my nostrils.

“What is that  _ smell? _ ” Sukarno cries, grabbing his nose.

I give him a sad smile. “My mom’s old landlord—Charles—was a very heavy smoker.”

Sukarno’s no stranger to cigarette smoke, for plenty of his fellow detectives smoke occasionally, but I don’t think he’s ever smelled it this strong.

“How could anyone  _ do _ that to themselves?” He coughs. 

“I asked myself the same thing when I came here to collect my mom's things,” I say, grimacing at the memory of Charles imploring me to never start smoking, to never give up on myself like he had on himself.

I lead Sukarno inside, showing him the kitchen where Mom stored the few food items we had, the scrap of a table where we ate if we were lucky enough to, and the room with the slanting roof that had been my room. When I stop in the doorway of my old room, a tear escapes my eye. I can’t help it.

Sukarno notices. “Duncan, if this is too painful for you, I will pay someone to fix the house up for you," he offers. I quickly wipe my cheek and shake my head. 

“Thanks, Sukarno,” I say. “But I didn’t come all the way to Sydney for nothing. Now let’s start with the kitchen.” I turn around and head for the kitchen, not wanting to even attempt going into Mom’s room right now. That will have to be saved for last, once I get over the initial shock of seeing my childhood home in such a deserted, miserable state.

*********

It turns out it’s a good thing I brought Sukarno with me instead of Nadya. For one, Nadya and I have been arguing over the phone almost every night since I got here. My hapless attempts to get her to see why I feel abandoned have all been met with  _ But my dad.  _ Once she even hung up on me because her dad came home. I am literally so done with her. If he’s that bad, and if I make her so happy, then why didn’t she just come with me? 

More importantly, though, it’s a good thing I brought Sukarno instead of Nadya because I didn’t know I was going to need a detective when I came to Sydney. Far more pressing than my relationship drama—or should I say my  _ situationship  _ drama—is the box. The little box I just found, next to my mom’s favorite jewelry that Uncle Jacob and I had left behind. The little box containing a huge wad of cash, a credit card to a bank I  _ know  _ Mom never went to, and a scrap of paper with an unfamiliar phone number scrawled on it in Mom’s messy cursive. Underneath the phone number is the name James Watts.

_ James Watts?  _ Who the hell is James Watts?

“Sukarno,” I call, my voice quivering, “come look at this  _ now!” _

I hear the thundering of rushed footsteps down the hall, and Sukarno is at my side in an instant. He kneels down in front of the box and carefully examines its contents.

“Don’t touch the box,” he orders, already in full-on detective mode. “There could be fingerprints.”

I nod. “Right.”

“Now,” says Sukarno, “Does the name James Watts sound familiar to you at all?”

“I’ve never heard it in my life!” I cry, throwing my hands up in despair. I came here to fix up my mom’s old house, not solve a money mystery!

“Okay,” says Sukarno, calmly and coolly. “My coworker, David Lee, is currently working on a case right here in Sydney himself. I’ll contact him, and we will find out about this credit card.” He takes the credit card and slips it into an envelope labeled  _ Evidence _ . “Meanwhile, you give that phone number a try, and call me if you get anything.” 

I nod and toss Sukarno the keys to the rental car. He dashes out the door, and a second later I hear the car starting. 

I waste no time dialing the number. The phone rings once, twice. On the third ring, someone picks up. I feel my heart leap into my throat.

“Hello?” A girl’s voice sounds on the other end of the line. She sounds no older than twelve.

“May I speak to Mr. James Watts?” I ask. 

“Sorry, I don’t know anyone with that name. Are you a friend of my dad’s? I can give you his number.”

“No, that’s all right,” I say, but my heart sinks. “Thank you.”

“Bye.” The girl hangs up, and I damn near throw my phone at the wall. Why couldn’t this James guy, whoever he is, be just a phone call away? 

Overwhelmed, I retreat to my old room. The bed is gone, but that doesn’t stop me from lying down on the wood floor and closing my eyes. When I was little, I often just camped out on the floor at night, right on this very spot. Most nights it was too hot for me to sleep in my bed with my blankets. The same is true back home in Indonesia, too, but I’ve taken a liking to Rasi’s air mattress. 

I roll over onto my side so I’m facing the window. Ugh, the Sydney Opera House hasn’t gone anywhere or gotten any less audacious-looking since the last time I saw it. Its roof of gleaming white shells fills up my entire window. I have no blankets to yank over my head, so I just simply shut my eyes. Maybe when I wake up I’ll see a king parrot outside. Just like the ones I used to see at Uncle Jacob’s house in Canberra. 

  
  


*********

I don'r know how long I sleep for. All I know is that when I finally open my eyes to the world that suddenly seems so much colder and stranger than before, it's night out.

“One million Australian dollars?” Sukarno’s voice comes from the kitchen. “David, how can this be?”

“I don’t know,” a man’s voice replies. “That’s the next thing we gotta figure out.”

I scramble to my feet and hurry down the hall, not bothering to smooth down my hair or not look like I’ve just been napping. “What did you find?” I ask.

“Duncan, this is my coworker, David,” Sukarno says, gesturing to the blond middle-aged man standing next to him. David and I shake hands, and then Sukarno continues, “We investigated the credit card."

"That was fast," I say. "I thought the investigation would take longer."

"Well, I had to pull a few strings," says Sukarno. "When you're a detective, you have ways of getting what you want when you want it."

"You did well, Sukarno," applauds David. Then he turns to me and says, "Duncan, this credit card was tied to an account that your mother shared with James Watts, whoever he is.”

I gape. “But...that’s impossible! Mom never knew a James Watts.”

“It doesn’t look like that was the case,” David replies. “Duncan, this account had over one million Australian dollars of savings in it.”

“That can’t be! We were dirt poor! There must be some sort of mistake.”

“I wish there were, Duncan,” says David.

“The whole thing would make a hell of a lot more sense if there were some mistake,” adds Sukarno.

"But what does this mean about Mom?" I ask.

David gives me a sad smile. "I don't know, Duncan."

I feel my face get hot, but I will myself to hold it together for just a few more minutes. “We have to find this James guy,” I say. “If he messed with my and my mom’s lives, he needs to be brought to justice. And I want to know why I never knew about him until now.”

“We  _ will  _ find him, Duncan,” vows Sukarno. “I will personally see to it that we do.”

“I’ll let our boss know back home, and call for backup, too,” adds David. “Something tells me we’re gonna need a lot of extra help for this case.”

  
  
  



	7. Cold and Calculating

NADYA POV

  
  


“Aren’t you dressed yet, Nadya?” my father demands from outside my room. 

“I’m coming!” I reply, then when I’m sure he’s not going to just barge in like he does sometimes, roll my eyes. 

“You were supposed to be ready five minutes ago,” he snaps. 

I fling the door open a little harder than necessary. “Okay, I’m ready! But I still don’t understand why you have to come with me on my own date, Dad.” Wasn’t picking the guy out enough control for him?

“I only said you were no longer grounded yesterday,” my dad warns. “And I don’t trust you not to run off to Mikha’s.” I had been planning to do this, but my dad caught me texting her and threatened to take my phone away if I did anything like that again.

“I won’t, Dad.” Not that Kamal would cover for me anyway. 

“Hmmph. Well, let’s go.”

My father escorts me to the car and we drive to the cafe. It’s the same one I took Duncan to for our first real date. God, it all seems so long ago. Back when my dad didn’t know about Duncan. I dread telling my dad anything. He always ruins it by having something nasty or disapproving to say. Then he blames me for being a bad daughter and never telling him anything. I swear, some people just think they can do no wrong. I used to think Duncan had too pessimistic of a view on people, but after seeing how my father has gotten since I told him about Duncan, I’m beginning to think Duncan may be right. 

“Earth to Nadya,” my father snaps. “We’re here.”

Reluctantly, I get out of the car and follow him inside the cafe. 

“I just want to talk to Kamal for a minute,” my dad says. “Then I’ll leave you two alone.”

Kamal is already sitting at the smallest table in the back. He is wearing a crisp white shirt and freshly ironed pants, and his hair is all gelled up. Once we reach him, my father shakes hands with him before ushering me into the inside of the booth, trapping me inside. 

“How have you been, Kamal?” my father asks. 

“Not too bad,  _ Encik  _ Budi,” Kamal answers. “I hope you and Nadya are well too.”

“Nadya?” My father’s eyes bore into mine, prodding me to say something.

“About the same as always,” I answer as honestly as I can. 

“Good, good,” says Kamal. 

“How is your work going?” My dad asks him. “Think you’ll get a promotion any time soon?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” says Kamal. “I am still very new there, you know.” 

“But you’re intelligent! And level-headed. I could think of a few spots at ORP where there is a shortage of those qualities.” 

Talking about Duncan, of course. I narrow my eyes at my dad, hoping he doesn’t see. 

He doesn’t see, but Kamal does. He raises an eyebrow at me quizzically and says, “Well, I like to think I could take on that new position if I had to.” 

Now I know why my father chose Kamal for me. He  _ wants  _ me to be with an arrogant man who will force me under his thumb just like my dad does now. 

I mean, my father has obviously smooth-talked Kamal enough to get him on board to ruin Duncan’s career. So maybe, just  _ maybe  _ I can smooth-talk Kamal into ending this so-called relationship with me. Clearly, all he wants is a promotion and an ego boost. I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of having to stroke Kamal’s ego even a little bit, but it’s my only option if I want to try to get him to end this joke of a relationship. 

For a little while longer, my father and Kamal chatter on as if I’m not even there, but finally my dad says, “Well, I’m off. Don’t go too wild, you two!” He fake laughs, gets up from the booth, and leaves.  _ Good riddance.  _

Once my dad is gone, Kamal says, “So, how has your day been?”

“All right, I guess,” I reply. It’s been anything but all right, but I lie because everything about Kamal screams  _ heartless. _

“That’s good,” he says. “I hope this date makes it even better.”

Not wanting to reciprocate his attempts at flirting, I try to shift the focus back onto him. “How about you?” I ask. “How are things for you at ORP, being the new guy and all?”

“It’s going pretty well, thank you,” Kamal replies. “It’s always hard being new, but you know that. What was ORP like when you were new?”

“Well,” I begin, then hesitate, not really wanting to think about what ORP was like back when self-absorbed, power-hungry Amy was the boss, but I guess anything is a better conversation topic than destroying Duncan’s career. “It was very different,” I continue. “Our old boss was a nightmare. Her fiancé worked with us and he just terrorized everyone. They were both totally in it for the money and didn’t care about orangutans at all.” 

“That’s terrible,” says Kamal, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t care about orangutans either. Going to an orangutan conservation organization in a suit just to file papers all day? Give me a break.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I still remember my first day. I didn’t know anyone there. Mikha wasn’t even there yet. I thought I would have no friends until Rasi came to sit with me at lunch. He’s always been very welcoming like that.”

“Well, that’s good you made a friend so quickly,” says Kamal.

The date drones on like this. We order food and drinks and continue to chat about work and other small talk. Kamal tells me about his friends back home in Malaysia, and I tell him how I became friends with Mikha. Much to my relief, Kamal doesn’t make any move to make this a serious relationship. 

Once the waiter has cleared our plates, though, Kamal doesn’t beat around the bush. “So,” he says, “Will there be a second date?”

Looks like I was right to stroke his ego and just go along with things. And now’s my chance to get out of this mess. 

I say, “Kamal, you’re an extremely nice young man, and oh so very handsome. Any girl would be lucky to call you hers. But I’m afraid I don’t think this could be a real relationship.”

Kamal doesn’t seem surprised in the least. In fact, he barely even seems to react at all. “Oh. Why’s that?” 

Hmmm. Better not bruise his ego and risk both him and my father turning on me. “I just don’t think I’m quite up to your calibre of women. You seem very mature and intelligent, and I still have a lot of growing up to do.” 

Much to my surprise, Kamal’s face softens. “Nadya, if you’re not interested, you can just say so.” 

I’m not about to call him out on his arrogance to his face. “I just...don’t want a relationship right now. But my dad really wants me to get married. If I tell him I’m not ready it will crush him. But he might take it better coming from you. Please, tell my dad that you no longer wish to pursue a relationship with me.”

Just like that, his slightly softer expression is gone. “That’s not a very smart move, Nadya,” he says, almost like he’s scolding me. “I don’t think I should tell your father that. I’m not going to.” 

“But..why? Please, Kamal, he likes you. He’ll listen to you. But if I’m the one who calls it off, he’ll think I’m just trying to get out of seeing you so I can see Duncan.”

“About that, Nadya. I think it’s best not to stir the pot. And I wouldn’t go trying to see that guy again as long as you live with your father.” 

How dare he! “What I do with my time is none of your business,” I say coolly. “And if I were you, I would stop trying to smooth everything over and keep everyone happy in situations you shouldn’t even be poking your nose in.”

Kamal recoils at my words, almost as if I slapped him. 

“All right, fine,” he says stiffly. “I keep trying to help you, but I can see you don’t want my help.” He scribbles on a napkin and shoves it across the table towards me. “If you do change your mind, here’s my number.”

And with that, he gets up and breezes out of the cafe, leaving me all alone. Great. Now what am I going to tell my dad? Now I have no ride home, and I’m the one who has to pay the bill. 

******

“What happened? I thought Kamal was bringing you home,” my dad says as I climb into the passenger’s seat. 

“He, um...had a surprise visit from one of his friends from Malaysia,” I lie. My dad’s eyes narrow at me, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me. But at least he doesn’t ask any more questions. Disaster averted...for now. Now I get to worry about his reaction when he finds out for sure that I lied. 

“Did you like him?” my dad asks. 

“Yeah,” I say. “Kamal’s great. He seems to be doing well at ORP. And he has some good friends back home.”

“It would be nice of you to introduce him to your friends,” says my dad. “It must be lonely being the new guy at work who doesn’t know anyone.”

_ Must be lonely having no friends because you’re too uptight to talk to anyone who doesn’t stroke your ego,  _ I think. But I don’t dare say it out loud. 

Instead I say, “I don’t know. We’ve only been on one date.”

“You were so welcoming to Duncan when he first showed up. I don’t see why you can’t do the same for Kamal,” my dad snaps. 

Why is he taking this so personally? It’s not  _ his  _ life, it’s  _ mine.  _ I wanted to get Kamal to tell my dad that he was no longer interested in me, but I guess I’m going to have to just do this myself. 

“He’s great, dad, but I don’t want to be in a relationship right now. You didn’t let me finish what I was saying,” I explain. 

At this my dad whirls around furiously, almost veering off the road. “How DARE you accuse me of interrupting you!” he yells. By now he is driving way faster than is safe. 

“Dad, slow down!” I plead.

“Shut up,” he barks, making me shake with sobs. “Now, you listen to me, you will give Kamal a chance. He’s a good man for you. Duncan isn’t. Duncan is only a  _ boy. _ ”

“Dad, if  _ you’d  _ only give Duncan a—”

“THAT’S ENOUGH BACKTALK!” my dad screams, speeding onto the highway. I clutch onto the door and cry. 

“You know what, fine!” I surrender. “Kamal gave me his number, so I’ll ask him out on a second date. You win.”

“Wise of you,” my dad snaps. I wipe my tears. 

We drive the rest of the way home in silence. As soon as I get inside the house, I go straight to my room and bawl my eyes out. I am in for one miserable life. I’ve already lost my mom, the person who meant more than anything in the world to me. I’m separated from the guy I love, and he’s mad at me, too, because I didn’t go to Australia with him. I feel like I’ll never get out of this house with my dad. And even if I do, what’s the point? He’ll just hand me off to a guy who is just as controlling and calculating as he is. I bury my face into my pillow, as if the fabric, now wet with my tears, will somehow shield me from the years and years of misery to come. 


	8. An Unexpected Listener

MIKHA POV

“You know, I’m really proud of Duncan. And  _ so _ grateful for him,” Nadya says to me in Indonesian as we dump sacks of corn and bananas onto the platform where the orangutans eat. “Despite all the crap he’s been through, despite all the crap he  _ and  _ I have been through, he just sticks by me without question. It’s been so hard on him.”

“Yeah,” I grumble, not really wanting to talk about how in love Duncan and Nadya are.

Nadya continues, “You know, sometimes I feel like our lives would be easier if we just weren’t together. Maybe my father wouldn’t be so crazy, and Duncan wouldn’t have the added stress of a complicated relationship on top of the stuff about his mom. But then there are times where I wonder what we’d ever do without each other.”

“Hopefully you wouldn’t end up like me,” I snap, not wanting to hear about this at all. 

Nadya frowns. “What do you mean?” 

I dump a sack of corn onto the platform, way harder than necessary. “You know. Alone. Single. Pathetic. Discarded like a meaningless, insignificant piece of garbage.” 

“Mikha, it wasn’t your fault. It was hi—”

“Then why did he leave me?” I demand. 

Nadya shakes her head. “I don’t know, Mikh. We’ve been having this conversation every day since it happened. I don’t know what to say anymore. I wish I could do more for you. If it were in my power, I’d send you someone who makes you as happy as Duncan makes me in an instant.”

At that moment something ugly bubbles up in my chest and comes exploding out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Don’t talk to me about your perfect relationship anymore!” I yell, stamping my foot. “I’m so  _ sick _ of you shoving your happiness in my face while I get left alone, unhappy and unloved!”

Nadya’s eyes first widen, then narrow. She looks angrier than I’ve ever seen her. She cries, “You know what, Mikha, you’re an ungrateful little child, that’s what you are! Duncan and I can’t even  _ have  _ a relationship because of my father, yet you think your breakup is the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone! You think everyone else’s life is perfect? Because if you do then you clearly don’t think about anyone besides yourself.”

“That’s not true!” I shout. “I do too.”

“Oh yeah?” Nadya says. “Look at Duncan. Gone back to the place that holds so many painful memories for him just to fix up his dead mom’s house, only to find a credit card that belonged to some mysterious guy he knows nothing about! He called me last night, and he seemed pretty messed up over it.”

“How would I know?! He didn’t call me.”

“He didn’t call you because he knows you won’t be there for him like you used to,” Nadya snaps. 

Ouch. That stings. My hurt must show on my face, for Nadya’s expression softens and she says, “Look, I know you’re going through a tough time, but you’re drowning so much in your own self-pity that you’ve forgotten all your friends.”

“I have not! Stop accusing me of things I didn’t do! You’re acting just like your dad!” 

Nadya narrows her eyes. “Mikha…”

Fine,” I concede. “I guess I should check up on Duncan more often. It’s just that he’s away…”

Nadya huffs, “You’ve forgotten your friends here at home, too. What about Rasi? Having all these second thoughts about his career path and dying for support, only to be interrupted every single time he tries to talk by a lovesick  _ child _ going on and on about how she got dumped? Or Eric? He’s trying to become a pilot ON TOP OF going to work and school. Are you even a little concerned with how down he’s been about not being able to follow his dream?” 

“First of all, do  _ not  _ call me a child,” I scowl. “Second, I talk to Rasi every night,” I say, “and I’ve hardly even seen Eric these past few weeks.” I didn’t even  _ know  _ those things about either Rasi or Eric! How can Nadya blame me for not helping them?

Nadya’s expression hardens into one of hurt. “And what about me? I thought you knew me better than this, Mikha. Here I am, twenty-two, kept apart from the guy I want to be with, gave up the career path I wanted, haven’t finished school,—had to  _ drop out— _ all because my neurotic father has kept me under his thumb for years. And  _ you _ have the kindest, most doting father ever, and can inherit a whole business to yourself if you so choose.”

I glower. “I never said you didn’t have those prob—” 

“That’s not the point. The point is that for someone who’s so miserable, you sure have a lot to be happy about. Now you can choose to move on from Arif, and be  _ you  _ again, or you can choose to stay miserable.” 

I suck in a sharp breath of air, inhaling Nadya’s hurtful words right along with it. Right into my chest. Right into my  _ heart.  _ My already broken heart.

“CHOOSE to move on?” I screech. “Really, Nadya? If I could CHOOSE to stop hurting, to stop having to pretend to be happy every day only to cry myself to sleep every night, to stop wondering why I wasn’t good enough and if I will ever be good enough for anybody else, to stop feeling like my heart is being ripped out of my chest and shredded by a thousand razor blades yet somehow dropping into the pit of my stomach like the heaviest stone all at once, I WOULD!!” 

I turn and dart deep into the woods, my tears blinding my vision. How could Nadya be so insensitive? Just move on? Like it was a  _ choice?  _ If I could choose to just move on and have a new love by now, I’d already have done it the second Arif no longer wanted me.

“Look out!” a sharp male voice cries, jerking me from my thoughts. 

I scream and try to swerve around the figure blocking my path, but to no avail. I brace myself for the impact, when a pair of hands grasps me by the shoulders, preventing what I thought would be an inevitable collision. 

“Mikha? Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.” My eyes clear enough to realize the blurred figure is Kamal, studying my face. 

I jerk away from him. “What do you care?” I snap. “Besides about getting onto Budi’s good side and into Nadya’s bed?” Nadya and I may be fighting, but I still don’t want this smug  _ jual tampang  _ who thinks he can use his looks to get whatever he wants to manipulate his way into her bed and her life.

Kamal’s brow furrows. “I don’t want to get into Nadya’s bed,” he says calmly. Almost  _ too  _ calmly. “I just want to help you.” 

“Why? What do you get out of it?” I narrow my eyes at him. 

Well,” he scratches the back of his head. “I know I’m new here, and am kind of at the bottom of the hierarchy. And you, the boss’s daughter, have been here forever. But your dad talks about you a lot when we’re in his office together. He’s worried about you. He thinks you should have moved on by now, be more like yourself again by now. I understand you’re going through a difficult time.”

Now he was  _ really  _ overstepping. I gape, outraged at his audacity. “What’s it to you?” I demand. “You don’t even know me.”

“Forgive me,” he says. “But I just want you to know that there’s no set time in which you have to heal. It’s different for everyone, and some people think you one day just wake up and choose to be better again. But you don’t. It’s not like that. Trust me, I would know.”

“How?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest. 

“I think we’d better focus on you right now. Do you want to talk about it?” 

I give him a hard stare. “I’m okay.” 

Kamal looks me right in the eyes and says, “I know you’re not.”

Unbelievably, I start tearing up again. How embarrassing! 

“Just vent,” says Kamal. “You need to be listened to. And I’m here.”

Finally having enough of everyone just thinking I should be over it by now, I say, “My ex-boyfriend Arif broke up with me not long after you started working here. He said he didn’t want to be with anyone right now, yet I see him post a picture with the same new girl every week!”

“Block him,” says Kamal. “First thing you do is block him.” He shrugs, like this should be obvious.  _ Grrrrrr.  _

I glare at him. “I thought you were going to  _ listen. _ ” 

“I hear you,” he says. “I hear you loud and clear. You feel used and discarded, like the whole relationship was a lie. You wonder if any of it ever really was real since he seems to have moved right on. And you wonder if anyone else will ever love you again.”

My eyes widen. “Yes.” 

“And it’s one of the worst feelings in the world.” 

I stare at the ground. I should be angry that this boy I don’t even know is taking words right out of my mouth, but instead I feel... _ understood _ for the first time. I still won’t cry though. Even if he is the first person to actually understand me, I still won’t give this arrogant boy the satisfaction of seeing me cry for even one second. 

“And Nadya,” I say. 

“What about Nadya?”

“Now she hates me too.”

“I doubt that. Why would she hate you?”

“She and I just got into a pretty bad fight. She said I’m ungrateful. She said I have so many reasons to be happy, like loving parents and an entire business I can inherit one day, yet I’m still being  _ miserable _ about Arif.” I roll my eyes. 

“She’s probably never gone through a breakup like you have. And she sounds jealous of your relationship with your parents. Honestly, she’s probably going through some stuff of her own, and isn’t ready to be empathetic towards you. And you probably aren’t ready to do the same for her.”

I know Kamal is right. I know Nadya’s going through stuff. But that is no excuse for calling me an ungrateful child. “Why would I even want to help her?” I glower.

Kamal looks like he is trying not to smile. I’d slap it right off his face if he did. “See,” he says, “you proved my point.”

“I guess I’ll get nowhere with Nadya,” I say, “so I should just stop trying.”

“Well, no, not forever, but maybe don’t talk to her about your breakup for a while. If she can’t be empathetic, it will only piss you off more.”

“What do I do then?”

“I would suggest you two apologize to each other, then seek support from people who will be more understanding.”

I shake my head. “Nadya doesn’t understand at all. She thinks it’s time I acted like myself again, and that I can choose to either move on or stay miserable.”   
  


“Well, she’s wrong about that. Very wrong. It’s not a choice.”

“Exactly. Which is why from now on I am not speaking to her,” I vow. I turn on my heel and march away.

“No, that’s not what I—” Kamal protests, but I’m already well on my way out of the woods. 

  
  



	9. Weight off My Shoulders

DUNCAN POV

“Wish us luck,” Sukarno says as he grabs his lunch off the counter. “Today’s the day the police are bringing Watts in for questioning.”

“Good luck to you and everyone there, Sukarno. I really hope he doesn’t give you too much trouble,” I reply. 

“‘I’ll fight the scoundrel myself if I have to,” Sukarno growls. “Well, now I’m off.”

And with that, he hurries out the door, leaving me all alone in the house. The house has been officially mine for three weeks now, but I already want to get out of here. Even after the deep cleaning Sukarno and I gave the house, it still smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Unless it’s just my imagination. The kitchen is too small for all the food I can now afford, whereas there was always plenty of extra space in the refrigerator when Mom and I lived here. And I can’t stay in this house without thinking of Mom, which of course makes me miss her, but now on top of that I’m at a total loss as to where she could have gotten this money. What else could there be that I don’t know about her? 

I wonder how my friends are holding up back home. I hope Nadya hasn’t been forced into too many more dates with Kamal. The nerve of him, leaving her to pay their bill and still being so confident that he can steal me away from her. Though of course, if Budi has anything to do with it, maybe he can. 

Rasi called me last week to tell me Eric got rejected by yet another pilot school and Mikha had been over to our house every night, only to end up crying while Rasi tried to comfort her, but to no avail. Rasi told me that he’d tried everything, but he just couldn’t cheer Mikha up. He told me he was planning on booby trapping Eric’s entire room the next time the three of them went over to Eric’s house. Mikha had done that to her dad’s office once when she was a teenager. Maybe then, Rasi said, would he finally be able to make Mikha laugh. I told him I didn’t know about that and made him promise not to wear himself out dealing with everyone else’s problems.

At least the house renovations are going okay. It’s a lot of money, but I earn decent pay at ORP now, and Sukarno, Rasi, and Rinaldi have all chipped in, despite my efforts to dissuade them. It’s especially funny how Sukarno, who had once prided himself on never having touched money in his life, now gave some to me as a token of generosity, just like everyone else. 

At ten o’ clock, the plumber comes to clear out the clogs that have developed over the years. I can tell that Charles never took care of the house, and I suspect that Mom never did after she gave me up, either. The house had never been the cleanest, but it was also never this bad when I was living here as a kid. I was just glad to finally get the pipes cleared out. Three weeks in your dead mom’s old house with a shower that clogs after every use had fast become tiresome. 

After the plumber leaves, I head into the tiny kitchen to make some lunch, but find that we are out of pasta and mangoes. So I grab my wallet and take the ten-minute walk to the store. I pay for the pasta and mangoes and avoid meeting the manager’s eyes on the way out, lest he recognize me as the son of the poor woman who always used to sample from the hot food bar. 

The painters come later in the afternoon to fix up what had been Mom’s room. Of course, they are taken aback when I am unable to bring myself to go in and tell them to just paint it whatever color they see fit, but they don’t question me. Last week, different painters had come to cover up the dirty, chipping white paint on the outside of the house, and the house now stands out proudly in this poor neighborhood in its new robin’s egg blue that Mom never would have imagined painting it. But I guess after you die, the world doesn’t care about what you would have wanted for all the belongings you left behind. 

Sukarno comes home an hour after the painters leave. I am in the kitchen fixing dinner, which is chicken and more pasta. I microwave some frozen peas while the rest cooks. It’s weird, but I actually miss Indonesian food. Yet somehow my stomach has never forgotten the satisfaction of good old pasta. 

“Planning on opening up your five-star restaurant any time soon, Duncan?” Sukarno teases as he squeezes past me towards the refrigerator and grabs a beer. 

“I think my cooking needs a bit more practice. And since when do you drink?” I flip the now-cooked chicken breasts onto a plate. 

“Oh, today was particularly rough,” says Sukarno. “Not the answers I was hoping to get at all.”

_ Right _ . Between the plumber and the painters, I completely forgot that Sukarno was questioning James Watts today. I drain the pasta, nervously gripping the handles of the pot. “So, what did you find out?”

“Hard to say,” Sukarno replies. “According to David, that stubborn bastard was extremely reluctant to talk. Said he didn’t know an Emily King at all.”

What a lying piece of shit. If I ever get my hands on him, I swear I’ll tear him limb from limb. 

Sukarno snorts. “Then he changed his story. Oh, no, I’m sorry, I mean, he  _ elaborated _ . He said that he had never known an Emily King personally, but a woman of that name had stolen a one million dollar prize he had won from The Boulevard Casino. David asked him how Emily King had his phone number and a bank account with him if he didn’t know who she was. He was quick to defend himself, and said that she had been his friend, nothing more, and he only used his individual bank account now as he hadn’t heard from her in years. Then he made a big show of being so sad when David told him she had died.”   
  


That scumbag. He’s the lowest form of scum that exists. First of all, my mom’s death isn’t his grief to share. He didn’t get separated from her when he was just a little boy. He didn’t believe she was poor for his whole life only to discover she had a million dollars of savings. And now he accuses her of stealing that money?!

“My mom would not steal money,” I say. I have never been more sure of anything in my life. “Her parents were selfish and only left her five hundred dollars in their will. They left the rest to my Uncle Jacob. And when Uncle Jacob offered her half of what their parents had left him, she  _ refused.  _ And this Watts asshole is gonna try to convince me that she would steal a million dollars from him? From  _ anyone?! _ ”

“It’s so frustrating,” agrees Sukarno. He takes a long swig of his beer. “This questioning didn’t tell us anything. All we know is that he knew your mom, shared a bank account with her, and has a million dollars. The only new information I have is the casino. David and I are going to be investigating it tomorrow.”

“And what about Watts?” I ask. 

“David had to let him go. For now. But he’ll be back in for sure. Maybe he’ll be in there for life once I find out the whole story.”

“I sure hope so,” I spit. “If I don’t find him first and strangle him to death with my own bare hands.”

  
  


******

  
  


I wake up the next morning to the sound of Sukarno tossing and turning. He rolls over onto his side and groans. I hurry over to his sleeping bag to check on him.

“Sukarno, are you all right?” 

“My whole body hurts,” he moans. “My head, my stomach, everything. I’ve felt a little off for a few days, but just thought it was extra stress due to the case. But now I can see I’m really sick.”

I feel his forehead, which is burning up. “You’re not going to work today,” I order. But then I frown. “And I guess that means you’re not investigating the casino today, either.”

“I guess not,” says Sukarno. “And David got assigned to a homicide case in Melbourne. They flew him out this morning. So we can’t investigate the casino until he gets back. I’m still in training, so I can’t go on my own.”

“This is terrible!” I exclaim.

“I’m sorry, Duncan,” Sukarno says in a raspy voice. “But I just have a bad case of  _ masuk angin.  _ It’s been so windy lately, and I’m not used to Australia’s climate.”

I laugh. “The wind can’t make you sick, Sukarno,” I say, though I think there might actually be some truth to what Rasi once said to me about the body aches and fever that I always seem to get whenever the wind picks up. “Besides, it’s normal to get sick when you travel to a foreign country.”

“I’ll be back on my feet in no time,” Sukarno reassures me. “Don’t you worry, Duncan.”

But I do worry. The day drags on. Sukarno sleeps. I give him soup and herbal tea all day and make sure he doesn’t lift a finger. 

By the evening, Sukarno says that he is starting to feel better and thinks he’ll be ready to go back to work in a few days. I, however, am getting more and more restless and slowly going stir-crazy. I  _ have  _ to find out all about that casino. 

Once Sukarno has gone to bed, I decide that I just can’t wait any longer. I finally act on the idea that has been brewing in the back of my mind all day: I drive to The Boulevard Casino. It is easy to spot with its flashy neon green sign. As soon as I step inside, I am blinded by many more bright lights just like it. 

People are everywhere betting and drinking. Several high-maintenance-looking women flash their dark eyes at me with predatory interest, but the activity in front of me doesn’t interest me in the least. I flag down the first employee I spot and say, “Excuse me, ma’am, may I please speak to the manager?”

The employee, a severe-looking woman with short blonde hair, gives me a suspicious look. “I am Angela, the manager,” she says slowly. “How can I be of service?”

“This might seem a little weird, but my friend—who’s also my private investigator—is looking for information on a man named James Watts, and he said he went to this casino. Can you confirm this?”

Angela narrows her eyes at me. “I’ll consider looking into it when I see the PI himself. But I don’t just give out private information about my casino to nobodies.”

Ouch. This is going to be harder than I thought. My heart races, just like it did when I stood before Amy so long ago, pleading with her to give me a job I had no experience in. 

“Please,” I beg Angela. “I need to find out the truth about my mom.”

“The truth about your mom?” Angela sniffs. “What kind of nonsense are you talking about? No, I will not look into the casino’s records for a mischievous boy who comes in and rudely asks me for them. And unless you’ve come here to try your hand at winning our jackpot, I’m going to ask you to leave.”

_ The jackpot.  _ Wait. I have one last idea. I quickly plaster on the most interested expression I can manage. I say, “Well, I guess I could try. How much would I be winning? I’m willing to bet everything I have.”

Upon hearing these words, Angela flashes me the same smile those well-dressed women did a few minutes ago. Her smile is like nails grating against a chalkboard, but I don’t shrink away from her severe gaze.

“Now that’s the spirit!” she exclaims. “Tonight, young man, you get to try your hand at winning two hundred thousand dollars. It will be the biggest jackpot we’ve ever given away!”

“Two hundred thousand…” I trail off.  _ Wait a minute.  _ This casino hasn’t even given away two hundred thousand dollars. And James Watts’ jackpot was a million dollars. 

“Two hundred thousand dollars,” Angela confirms. “We’re hoping someone wins it before the end of the month. Won’t that be a great way to celebrate Boulevard’s fifth year in business!”

_ Hmmm.  _ If this casino has only been around for five years, then Mom died before it was ever built, so there was no way she could have stolen the money!

I laugh in Angela’s face. She smiles back, clearly just thinking I’m excited to gamble away all the money I worked my butt off for at ORP. She was so eager to brag about this big prize her casino had to offer that she gave me the very information she made such a big fuss of keeping from me. 

“Thank you, Angela!” I cry, as if she has done something wonderful for me by offering me the opportunity to hit the jackpot we both know I won’t hit. Then I pat my pockets, as if searching for my wallet, and pretend to panic.

“Oh, no!” I exclaim. “Crap! I forgot my wallet!” I give Angela a pained expression. “I guess I’ll just have to come back another night.”

And with that, I bolt for the exit, laughing wildly at Angela’s shrill shrieks of “Hey! Come back here!” and “You good-for-nothing, you!” following me out the door. 

_ Shit. I’m being followed. _

I hop into my car, start the engine, and race out of the parking lot onto the highway. Now she doesn’t have a prayer of catching me. 

I drive faster than normal, partly to make the most out of the exhilaration of being on the highway, and partly to get away before Angela can see my license plate. Houses, lights, and other vehicles whip past me. I roll down the window and shout, ravishing the thrill of potentially being chased. 

When I pull into the driveway, I check behind me anxiously before getting out of the car.  _ Looks like no one was able to catch up with me,  _ I think to myself and grin a little. 

Sukarno meets me at the door. “Where have you been?” he demands. “I got up to go to the bathroom and you were gone.”

“I was at The Boulevard casino, Sukarno,” I say. “Wait till I tell you what I found out!”

Sukarno’s gaze is disapproving. “Duncan! Were you doing detective work?”

“Yes,” I admit. “I kind of couldn’t wait for the investigation.”

“Don’t ever do that again, Duncan,” Sukarno warns. “I know how important this case is to you, and David and I will give you all the information we can. But I don’t want you trying to be your own private investigator. Criminals are extremely dangerous.”

I scowl and contemplate throwing a little fit about him telling me not to do a job I think I’ve just done very well, but decide against it. He’s sick, and just concerned for me. 

“What about you, Sukarno?” I ask, trying to shift the focus away from myself. “How are you feeling now?”

“Much better. I think I’m only going to need one more day off. But tell me, Duncan, what did you find out at the casino?

“Well, the long version is that the manager was extremely rude to me and refused to tell me anything, and then I tricked her into giving me the information I wanted by pretending to be interested in gambling. But the short version is that the casino has only been around for five years, which is after my mom died, and they’ve never given away a prize of a million dollars. They’ve never even given away a prize of two hundred thousand dollars!”

“Well, I have to give it to you, Duncan, you’re smart,” says Sukarno. “And this means Watts was lying for sure. He isn’t covering his tracks very well.” 

“You’ll catch him in no time,” I reply. 

“I hope so soon,” says Sukarno. “Unfortunately, this means the investigation is back to square one. If Watts didn’t get that jackpot from The Boulevard Casino, then where  _ did  _ he get it from?”

We look at each other in silence for a moment, the weight of the unanswered question hanging over our heads like a dark cloud. Neither of us have any response.

*****

“Damn! That’s pretty impressive work for someone who isn’t a detective, Duncan,” David praises me as he, Sukarno, and I all pile around the scrap of a dining room table a few days later. 

“Thanks,” I say. 

“David is going to investigate the casino for real today, and I’m going with him,” says Sukarno. “But I think it’s a dead end. You found out that Watts couldn’t possibly have won a million dollars there.”

David shakes his head. “We’re probably going to have to investigate every casino in Sydney,” he says. “If not in all of Australia.”

“For all we know, he might not have even gotten the money from a casino at all,” says Sukarno. 

“Every casino in Australia?” I ask. “How long is that going to take?”

“This case could take months to crack,” David answers. “Maybe even longer. Who knows?”

“But I’ve been away from home for three weeks,” I say. “I have to get back to work.”

Sukarno frowns. “But you haven’t sold the house.”

“I’ll come back once someone buys it,” I say. “But I need to get back home and work.”

“Actually,” interjects David, “ I wanted to talk to you about that, Duncan. My home is in Melbourne, but I work on a lot of cases in Sydney. It wouldn’t hurt me to have a second home here. So, Duncan, is it okay if I buy the house? I love the color on the outside, too.”

I feel like the lightest of many weights has been lifted off my shoulders, but it’s still a relief. 

“Of course that’s okay with me, David!” I exclaim. “Thank you for making my life a little bit easier.”

“Well, now, you’re welcome,” David chuckles. “Now let me go put a deposit on this house before I have to go to the casino.”

******

As the plane rumbles into the sky and the buildings below me become smaller and smaller, I catch one last glimpse of the Sydney Opera House. I can’t say I’m particularly sad to be leaving Australia, but somehow when I’m way up above the Sydney Opera House, I don’t mind it so much. I recline my seat back and relax, relieved that the house has been sold and that I won’t have to go back to Australia. I down the bottle of water the flight attendant brings me and zone out during the rest of the flight, only snapping back to attention when the plane flies over a group of islands, a bunch of little green dots in the vast expanse of the ocean. I’m back home in Indonesia at last.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. An Unsettling Development

DUNCAN POV

“God  _ dammit!”  _ I yell, yanking the stubborn weed straight out of the ground. “You go right to hell!” I shout, chucking it deep into the forest. But the roots are full of dirt, and that dirt splatters all over my shirt and face. 

“I hate today!” I exclaim, kicking the ground. I curse as my toe hits a rock hidden deep in the ground and the waves of pain pulse through my entire foot. 

“Jesus, Duncan, are you all right?” Rasi rushes outside with a glass of homemade  _ es cendol  _ in his hand. 

I stuff my anger down and point at the gaping hole where the weed used to be with the biggest triumphant smile I can manage. “Never been better!”

Rasi’s eyes widen in surprise. “Seriously? You pulled that giant thing out? I’ve been trying to kill it for weeks!”

“Yeah, and now I think I deserve this,” I reply, gesturing for him to give me the glass. As I’m gratefully sipping the sweet coconut milk and bright green jelly, Rasi asks, “So, is that what all the fuss I heard out here was about? You conquering the evil weed?”

Shoot. I was hoping no one would hear my little tantrum. This is Rasi’s party, and I don’t want to be a burden with my girl troubles. But after a moment’s hesitation, I admit, “Well, my foot isn’t so lucky. Hit it on a rock. And my heart is even less lucky.”

“Oh no,” says Rasi. “Tell me all about it.”

“Nadya’s dad’s letting her come, but only if she brings Kamal as her date,” I say glumly. 

Rasi groans. “Oh no, not Kamal! He’s  _ pede banget.  _ The guy is way too confident,” he explains when he notices the confused look I am giving him. “Especially for someone who only files papers.”

“Hey now,” I threaten. “I was once paper boy too. In fact, Budi wishes I was still paper boy.”

Rasi scowls on my behalf. “Well, that’s not going to happen. And Kamal isn’t going to ruin all our fun, either. I didn’t plan on inviting him, but if that’s what it takes to get Nadya here where she can see you, then so be it.” He claps me on the shoulder and ushers me towards the door. “Now come on, let’s go inside. We gotta get you showered and changed for this rager of a party in an hour.”

  
  


*******

“Can I help you with that?” I ask Natasha, who is struggling to cut open a very large watermelon. People should be arriving any minute now, and the food isn’t ready yet. 

Natasha turns to me, defeated. “I’ll never get this open without your help.” 

“Don’t worry,” I say. I grab the knife and saw the watermelon in two easily. Proud of my work, I turn to smile at Natasha, but she’s gone. I hear her yelling at Rasi from the other room to please stop blasting every foreign national anthem he can find and come help her fix the meal. I laugh to myself and proceed to cut the watermelon into slices. 

Rasi appears in the kitchen behind Natasha. “Eric’s on his way,” he announces. 

“Good. Then you two can help,” says Natasha, adjusting her lavender hijab. She wipes her forehead and sighs. “Maybe this impromptu Sundanese buffet wasn’t such a great idea after all.”

“Oh, hush,” says Rasi. “It will be perfect! Because it was your idea. You’re my big sister, and big sisters know everything!” 

Natasha lets out a loud laugh. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

Ten minutes later, when we’ve finally gotten all the food ready, there is a knock at the door. 

“Eric’s here!” exclaims Rasi, darting to the door to greet his best friend. 

“Mmmm! Smells delicious!” Eric sniffs appreciatively and rubs his stomach as Rasi lets him in. 

Nadya and Kamal arrive a few minutes later, accompanied by Budi, who walks them to the door.  _ God.  _ Why does he still treat her like such a child? Judging by the way Nadya walks with her arms crossed over her chest, she isn’t any more thrilled by Kamal’s company than I am. 

Natasha greets the three of them in Indonesian with a warm smile. I pick out some of the most basic greeting words, but other than that, I don't have a clue what they are saying until Budi switches to English.

“Nadya brought her date along. Please see to it that Duncan understands that.” 

What a fucking asshole. I know I didn’t leave the best impression on him in Rinaldi’s office, but switching to English just to talk about me like I’m not even here, come on!

Natasha, who always knows what to say, is for once completely nonplussed. “I, uh…”

“Don’t worry,” Kamal cuts in. “I’ll make that clear.” 

Huh. Looks like I might have to have a word with Mr. Pretty Boy too. 

“All right,” says Budi. “Well, good night.”

“Bye, Dad,” answers Nadya, clearly wanting her father gone. 

As she and Kamal head over to the huge display of food, I shoot her a longing glance, but she barely meets my eyes for half a second, and then pointedly looks away.

_ Wait.  _ This has never happened before. Why is she ignoring me? Oh God, does this have something to do with our little argument before I left for Australia? Or the many subsequent arguments we had over the phone for weeks after? I thought we’d made up, but maybe seeing me at work brought up all those bad feelings again for her. Oh God, I shouldn’t have been so selfish...

I stare at her for what feels like eternity. She doesn’t notice, but Kamal does. He offers Nadya his arm and she takes it. Kamal gives her hand a pat, looking me right in the eye as he does so. Jealousy and anger bubble and rise up in my chest, to the point where I am too choked up to form any words. 

I pace the kitchen floor anxiously, barely aware of Carrie and Patrick arriving at the door, both carrying huge cases of beer. I wave hello to them and try not to look like I am drowning in panic. Nadya’s  _ never _ ignored me before. 

A few minutes later, Mikha arrives. She is wearing an expensive-looking yellow dress, and her normally straight black hair bounces around her face in elaborate ringlets. Upon seeing me, she waves and plasters a wide smile onto her face. But the spring in her step is gone, and her smile doesn’t reach her eyes like it used to.

“How are you holding up, Mikha?” I ask my friend as we pile our plates with food. 

“I’m good,” she says quickly. “My dad took me shopping and let me pick out a dress, and my mom took me to get my hair done.”

“That was really nice of your parents,” I say. “I wish I had parents like that. All I got is a dad I never even met and a mom who was very possibly involved with another guy I knew nothing about.”

“Yes, I heard about that from Rasi,” says Mikha. “How are  _ you  _ doing, Duncan?” 

Huh. Where was she when I actually found out about James Watts? She didn’t answer any of my calls. 

Oh, well, at least she’s asking now. “It’s been hard,” I admit. “Really hard. All I want to do is move on from the past, and all I get are more and more unanswered questions.”

“Boy, do I get the unanswered questions part. And I don’t think I’ll ever get them answered.”

“I’m really sorry, Mikha. If you want to talk I’m always here.”

Mikha waves me off. “I’m more worried about you. This whole thing about your mom seems to really be messing you up. I’m...I’m even worried about Nadya. She seems depressed. And I really don’t know how she is ever going to get away from Budi. He was never this bad before Nadya met you. I don’t understand it. Budi was always nice to me. But he did always have his ideas of how he wanted to raise Nadya, and he didn’t like her straying.” 

“What kind of ideas?” I ask. 

“Oh, like how he wanted her to become an orangutan conservationist because her mom was one.”

I bristle. “I thought that was  _ her  _ choice. She always said she chose her career in her mom’s memory.”

Mikha shakes her head. “Budi made her.”

“That’s...despicable,” I spit, feeling sick to my stomach. 

“Mikha! Duncan!” Rasi and Eric stagger over to us, each with green bottles that say  _ Bintang  _ in their hands. 

“Oh gosh,” says Mikha. 

“Why didn’t you invite Naila and Yasmin?” Eric demands, punching Rasi in the arm. 

Rasi sticks his tongue out. “You hate those girls, remember?” 

Eric takes a long swig from his bottle. “Yeah, but they’d look better after a few of these!”

Mikha rolls her eyes. “You two will never change.” 

“And why would you want us to?” asks Rasi, bopping Mikha on the nose.

“Hey!” Mikha exclaims.

Rasi turns to me. “Enjoying the party, Duncan?”

“Yeah,” I say, clapping him on the back. “Great turnout, Rasi. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.”

“Let’s go to the kitchen!” Eric exclaims. “Natasha is teaching Patrick and Carrie her secret fried rice recipe!”

“I’m in!” says Rasi. “I can never get it right. I always end up burning it.”

“What do you say, Duncan?” asks Mikha. “Want to go?”

I steal one final glance and Nadya and Kamal, deep in conversation, and try not to let the hurt show on my face. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

********

“Ta-daaa!” Natasha sings, shaking the newly-cooked fried rice into a huge bowl with expertise and finesse. Patrick and Carrie clap and cheer, and Rasi and Eric try to sneak past Natasha and sample the food with their bare hands.

“Get some spoons, you two!” Natasha scolds, swatting their hands away. 

Rasi and Eric burst into laughter at Natasha’s disgruntled expression. Eric pulls himself together long enough to get another green bottle from the counter.

“Whoa, how many has he had?” I whisper to Mikha. 

She shrugs. “Who knows? And what does it matter? I could use one myself.”

Mikha heads for the counter, but she is stopped in her tracks by Kamal barreling into the kitchen. 

“Hey, watch it!” she snaps, jumping out of the way just in time. She marches up to him, hands on her hips.

I poorly disguise a snicker. I’d love to see Mr. Confident get a calling down from tiny, feisty Mikha. 

“Sorry,” says Kamal. “But I just spilled sambal all over my white shirt!” He gestures to the huge red chili stain below his collar and grabs a dish towel. 

“Wait a minute, did  _ Kamal  _ just  _ apologize  _ for something?” blurts Eric. Rasi clamps his hand over Eric’s mouth, but Kamal is too busy frantically rubbing the red spot on his shirt to notice. 

“That’s not how you get rid of a stain!” exclaims Mikha. “You’ll only make it worse.” She grabs the towel out of his hands, wets it with soap and water, and gently blots the spot out. 

“I can’t believe it,” gasps Kamal. “You got it all out!”

“Hooray for Mikha!” exclaims Rasi, clapping. Eric, Carrie, and Natasha clap as well.

Rasi yanks me aside. “Whoa,” I say. “What’s the matter?”

He hisses, “Am I imagining things, or did Kamal seem to freeze under Mikha’s touch?”

I laugh. “I think you’re imagining things, Rasi.”

He scowls. “I saw what I saw! I think Kamal is trying to get with both Nadya and Mikha at once!”

I think for a moment. “Well, he does seem like the kind of guy who would, just to prove he could. But I think he’s after Nadya.  _ My  _ Nadya.” My hands ball into fists. 

“If it weren’t for her dad, Nadya wouldn’t give him the time of day,” snorts Rasi. “But if he even  _ thinks  _ about trying anything on Mikha after how badly she’s been hurt, I’m going straight to Rinaldi about it on Monday.”

“Rasi!” Natasha interrupts our little side conversation. “Want to play the taste test game?”

“Yeah!” shouts Rasi, clapping his hands. 

“The taste game? What’s that?” I ask. 

“Oh, it’s a game Rasi and I made up when we were kids,” Natasha replies, grabbing a dish towel and blindfolding Rasi with it. “One of us covers their eyes and guesses what the other is feeding them.”

“I’ve won every single time!” exclaims Rasi. “I have very distinguishing taste buds.”

“In that case, I challenge you to a taste test duel,” says Carrie, stepping up. “I’ve always been a picky eater. Bet I could take you.”

“You’re on,” says Rasi, grinning as Natasha blindfolds Carrie. 

“Okay, so here is the first item,” says Natasha, handing a little white shred of fruit to first Rasi, then to Carrie. They both taste it, and Carrie’s hand shoots up almost immediately.

“Coconut!” she cries. “It’s coconut.”

“We have a winner!” exclaims Natasha. 

“Aww, I was just gonna guess that!” complains Rasi. 

“Better luck next time, Rasi,” I say. 

“You know it. This one’s all mine!” he replies as Natasha places the second item, a spoonful of green jelly, in his hand. Both he and Carrie lift their spoons to their mouths at the same time.

“Oh! Oh! It’s….oh, crap, I don’t remember the name!” Carrie whines.

“ _ Cendol!”  _ Rasi cries.

“Correct!” exclaims Natasha. 

“No fair! Rasi has a language advantage!” protests Carrie. 

“Or maybe  _ you  _ should just pick up a second language, Carrie,” teases Rasi. “Boom, roasted!”

Several  _ ooooh! _ ’s chorus throughout the kitchen.

“Hey!” yells Carrie, but she is laughing, too. 

Four rounds later, Rasi and Carrie are neck and neck. While Rasi is prancing around the kitchen after correctly guessing chili peppers and Carrie is chugging glass after glass of water, I turn to Mikha, whose shoulders are drooping. 

“What’s wrong, Mikha?” I ask. 

“Oh!” She quickly looks up at me, unaware that I was watching her. “Um, forget it, it’s nothing, it’s stupid…”

“Mikha, tell me,” I say, leveling my gaze to force her to meet my eyes. 

“It’s just...when Arif and I were on our first date, he accidentally ordered this super spicy dish, not knowing that I don’t like spicy food. He had to flag down our waiter three times to bring more water as I drank and drank like there was no tomorrow. It became the source of all our inside jokes.”

I frown. “Oh, Mikha.”

“Don’t worry about me though,” she adds quickly. “I don’t want to ruin the party.”

I reply, “Mikha, you’re not ruining the—”

“Aww, does someone need cheering up?” croons Eric, clapping both me and Mikha on the shoulder. “I know just the thing. Now watch me!” He beckons us to the freezer, where he takes out a huge container of ice cream.

Mikha perks up a little. “Ice cream?”

I gape. “But...we don’t have any ice cream…”

“Weren’t you paying attention? I brought it up from my car after Nadya and Kamal got here.”

Well, that explains why I didn’t notice.

Eric pouts. “You really think I’d show up to my best friend’s party with  _ nothing?  _ Gosh, Duncan, I thought you knew me better than this!”

I can’t help but laugh at his exaggerated emotions. “Oh, Eric.”

“Well, can we have some?” asks Mikha. 

“Not just yet!” says Eric, retrieving two spoons and coming up with big spoonfuls of pale yellow ice cream. “Natasha, I’d like to distribute the final item for the tiebreaker!”

“Oh, um, go ahead!” says Natasha, taking the spoons from Eric, who wobbles and staggers on his way back to me. 

“This one’s in the bag for Carrie,” says Patrick confidently. “She loves ice cream.”

“Not this flavor, I bet!” replies Eric in a hushed whisper. 

It suddenly dawns on me. “Let me see that container,” I say. 

Eric’s only answer is to burst into hysterical laughter. 

I open the freezer, grab the ice cream I bought last week, and check the label.  _ Es durian,  _ it reads.  _ Oh no.  _ Rasi  _ hates  _ durian. I have to make sure he doesn’t eat that spoonful!

My eyes dart to the front of the kitchen, where Rasi and Carrie have their spoons in hand, both ready to put in their mouths. 

“Rasi, no!” I shout, but it is too late. He devours the sample of ice cream and immediately makes a face. 

“Ew, what is this?” he demands.

“Beats me,” replies Carrie, contemplating the taste in her mouth. “It’s weird, but it does taste sweet.”

Rasi exclaims, “Are you kidding? It tastes like gym socks and rotting onions!”

I grab the container and hurry towards Rasi. “Take the blindfold off and have a look. This might explain why.”

Rasi rips the blindfold off and takes a close look at the label on the ice cream container. “Is that...oh God!” 

He makes a beeline for the front door, barely making it outside in time and narrowly avoiding puking all over the floor. 

“Oh, my God, how do you throw up  _ every  _ time?!” exclaims Mikha, rushing out the door to help Rasi back inside. As Rasi pulls himself together, Mikha bites back the faintest hint of a smile.

“See?” Eric whispers to me, clapping his hands together. “I  _ knew  _ that ice cream would cheer her up.”

****

  
  


“Dessert!” Natasha sings a short time later. She and Rasi carry in platters of fruit, ice cream, and drinks with shaved ice and colorful jelly. 

“I love dessert!” Eric jumps off his chair and almost faceplants into the wood floor.

“My God, Eric, what have you been drinking?” Natasha demands. 

Eric opens another green bottle and takes a long swig. “This delicious sparkling grapefruit juice. I’ve had to pee so much, I’m on like my seventh bottle.” 

“Oh honey,” says Natasha. “That’s not sparkling grapefruit juice. That’s beer.”

“Whaaaaat? Nooooooo, you’re joking,” Eric drawls, nearly staggering into the table. Natasha catches him before he falls into the bowls of dessert.

Natasha says, “You drank  _ seven  _ bottles of Bintang? How are you still standing up straight?”

“Do you feel sick?” asks Rasi, making a face. 

“No,” says Eric. “I’m in heaven.” He slides to the ground and just lays there, spilling beer all over the floor. 

“How could you not know that was beer?” Rasi demands, nudging Eric with his foot. Eric responds with a loud burp and yet another laughing fit.

Mikha pushes her way through the crowd and crouches at Eric’s side. She yanks him upright. “We just gotta keep him awake.”

“No, we don’t,” Nadya pipes up. She turns to Rasi and instructs him, “Get him to bed, keep him on his side, and keep an eye on him. Make him drink water, and keep the trash can near him just in case.”

“That’s not how you take care of a drunk person!” shouts Mikha. “You should wake him up and keep him alert until the alcohol wears off.”

Nadya flashes Mikha a stony look. “Mikha, I know what I’m doing. I did this many times for my dad the first few years after my mom died.”

“Well, you’re just always right about everything, aren’t you!” Mikha snaps. 

For a moment I am unable to pick my jaw up off the floor. How could two best friends possibly end up like this. I look between Nadya and Mikha, not used to seeing them fight or be so cold towards each other.

“Guys, don’t fight,” I plead when I finally find words.

“Yeah, Nadya, don’t make Duncan choose sides,” says Mikha bitterly. “Because I know exactly whose side he’ll take.”

“I—” Nadya looks briefly at me, and her lip quivers. I lunge forward to take her into my arms, but Kamal cuts in, stepping between me and Nadya and putting a supportive arm around her shoulders. 

“Come on,” he urges, leading her into the hallway. “Let’s just take a moment to regroup.”

Nadya allows him to lead her away, and I look on anxiously, aching for just another glance from her.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Ripple Effect

MIKHA POV

“Mikha, come with me,” says Rasi in a low, flat monotone, his normally friendly face stone cold.

The slightest inkling of dread creeps into the back of my mind, but I am too angry at Nadya for making me look stupid in front of the whole party to even care if I did anything wrong. She’s never been to a party in her life; her dad would never let her. How could she possibly know what to do with a drunk person better than I do?

“What about Eric?” I ask.

Rasi rolls his eyes. “I meant come help me put him to bed.” 

“Oh! Okay.” I take one of Eric’s arms, and Rasi takes the other. We slowly hoist Eric up to his feet, careful not to raise him too quickly and make him dizzy. He can stand on his own all right, but he is swaying and giggling. 

Rasi looks at him with concern. “Will he be all right, Natasha?”

“Yes, he will,” Natasha reassures him. “Just do everything Nadya said.”

“I know what to do, too,” I interject. “Don’t worry, Rasi.”

A sharp glare flickers across Rasi’s face towards me, but he is too focused on Eric to pay me any more heed than that. I, however, am fully aware of Patrick, Carrie, and Duncan’s disapproving gazes and the nearly palpable tension in the room as Rasi and I slowly guide a staggering Eric into Rasi’s messy bedroom. 

Rasi kicks clothes and books on the floor out of the way as we set Eric down on the bed. Eric laughs and kicks his feet in delight. 

“I’ve never felt so alive!” he exclaims.

Rasi gently pushes him down and rolls him onto his side. “Oh yeah? Well, if you had any more to drink, you might not even  _ be  _ alive.”

Eric bursts into laughter once again. 

Rasi turns to me. “You know why I picked you to help me bring Eric to bed.” He says it as a statement, not a question.

“Um...yes?” I squeak.

Rasi takes a deep breath. “Mikha, that was not cool.”

I gape. Did Rasi really bring me here to yell at me? Up until this point he’s done nothing but support me!

“Don’t look at me like that!” he switches to Indonesian, too angry to continue in English. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Accusing Nadya of making Duncan choose sides.”

“But she did!” I protest. “I was there to help you with Eric, and she just flew in and took over, contradicting everything I said.”

“No,” says Rasi. “She was  _ helping.  _ She was helping, and you pushed her away. Just like you do with me,” he tacks on at the end, his voice faltering.

“Don’t make this about me!” I yell.

Rasi throws his hands up in frustration. “But it  _ is  _ about you, Mikha! Can’t you see that you’re causing a rift in our friend group?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “What the  _ hell  _ are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m talking about,” snaps Rasi. “Patrick and Carrie have been acting weird with me for weeks. They only came tonight to make sure Nadya would be okay, whatever the hell that means. From what Duncan’s told me about his phone calls with Sukarno, Sukarno thinks you’re taking this too far, too. And now you’re dragging Duncan into a fight that’s between you and Nadya, going as far as to threaten him with your friendship if he supports her over you?! Even  _ Natasha  _ and I have been getting into disagreements. She keeps telling me to have some compassion for you, to convince you to get more help, when I’m just about ready to be done with you!”

Angry tears prick my eyes. “You can’t leave me!” I half plead, half implore. “I never thought my best friend would be just like Arif.”

Rasi bristles. He tries to pull himself together, but I can clearly see the hurt twisting his features. “I’m not like Arif!” he shouts. “But every time I try to help you, you don’t let me. It’s exhausting, Mikha. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“Like you’re any support,” I glower. “All you do is let me hang around with you and Eric while you play pranks on each other and play video games.”

“I’ve dedicated every second of free time I have to you!” exclaims Rasi. “I’ve had you over every night since  _ it  _ happened, told you a million times that it wasn’t your fault and you’ll find the right one eventually, checked in on you multiple times a day, and bought you every last gift you’ve had on your birthday wishlist when your birthday is still months away! And when Eric and I invite you to hang out with us and he and I play pranks on each other? We do that to try to cheer you up!”

Rasi turns away from me, burying his face in his hands. Eric tries to get out of bed and touch his shoulder.

“Rasi, are you okay?” he asks, drawing out each word in his drunken stupor.

Just like that, Rasi straightens up and pulls himself together. “Don’t worry about me, Eric,” he says, his voice no longer sounding on the verge of a breakdown. “Just get some rest.”

There is a knock at the door. Natasha pokes her head in, a tall glass of water in her hand. “I brought some water for Eric,” she explains, sitting down on the bed next to him. “Rasi, will you hand me those extra pillows?”

Rasi retrieves two lumpy pillows from the floor, and Natasha uses them to prop Eric up. She eases sips of water into Eric’s mouth, despite Eric’s attempts to swat her hand away while hissing like a cat. I expect Rasi to laugh at this, but he just stares at Eric, despondent. 

“So,” Natasha begins. “I, uh, heard everything.”

Rasi’s face floods with anger in an instant. “Will you tell Mikha she’s being unreasonable?”

“Now Rasi, that won’t fix anything and you know it,” Natasha chides her brother. Rasi glares at her. 

“See?” I say to Rasi. “Your sister understands.”

“But Mikha,” says Natasha gently, “I’m concerned you tie your self-worth to being in a relationship. Seeing Nadya and Duncan together seems to really trigger you.”

“I…” I trail off, realizing I have no comeback. Natasha is right. 

Natasha continues, “Seeing the way you compared yourself to Nadya out there told me everything I needed to know. You felt threatened because she knew how to handle the situation better than you did.”

I glower. “I was  _ irritated  _ because I had it under control and she took over.”

Rasi looks at me as though he doesn’t recognize me. Natasha says calmly, “You’re doing it again, Mikha. If you didn’t feel threatened by Nadya, you’d be willing to admit that, in this particular situation, she was right and you were not.”

Damn. Well, I may put up a fight, but I know when I’ve been beat. I sigh and nod my head, admitting defeat. 

Natasha continues, “And you feel threatened because she has something you want but don’t have. The attention of a man who loves her.”

Arif’s wide, white smile floods my memory, causing the stupid tears that have been gathering in my eyes to finally spill over. I turn away before Rasi and Natasha can see. 

“This isn’t the Mikha I know!” Rasi exclaims, sounding on the verge of tears himself. “Do you remember, Mikha, when Duncan first came here and you convinced Amy to give him a job, even though he had no experience? He wouldn’t be with us today if it weren’t for you. Or when you tried to convince her to fire her own fiancé instead of Duncan, putting your own career on the line for the sake of saving his? Amy could have just as easily fired you for speaking out against her! Or when you told me to pursue my dream of teaching ESL to immigrants in the US, back when it  _ was  _ my dream, even if it meant you didn’t get to see me as much? Where is the Mikha who welcomed a new friend in need with open arms? Where is the Mikha who would sacrifice anything, as long as it meant her loved ones’ needs were met?”

Rasi’s impassioned tirade is a shower of shame raining down on me. I bury my head between my knees, and am only half aware of Rasi’s footsteps heading to the door. 

“I hope the Mikha I know and love comes back soon,” he says. “Because this...this girl who feels threatened by her own friend...I don’t even know who she is anymore.”

And with that, Rasi heads out, slamming the door behind him.

“Rasi…” Natasha gets up to follow him out, then takes one look at me and sits back down on the bed next to me, Eric sound asleep behind us.

“I wish he hadn’t yelled at you like that,” says Natasha, rubbing my back in comforting circles. “He’s worn out. I told him not to concern himself with trying to fix everyone’s problems, but you try telling Rasi to focus on himself when others need help.” Natasha sighs. 

I reluctantly meet her eyes. “What was that you said before? About me tying my self-worth to being in a relationship?”

“I see it in lots of young girls,” says Natasha. “They see dating someone as a status symbol and the end-all-be-all to their insecurities. I always tell them if that is what they think a relationship is, then they simply aren’t ready for one.” She hesitates for a moment, then adds, “And I think that is the case for you, Mikha.”

I can’t believe it. Now she’s telling me that I’m not ready to have the one thing I want the most?!

Natasha studies my face, knowing her answer was not the one I wanted to hear. Then she continues, “That is why I think therapy would really benefit you. I thought it would be easier for you to hear this from Rasi than me, since you two are so close, but I can see now I was wrong.”

“Wait,  _ you  _ told Rasi to tell me to get help?” I ask.

“Yes,” Natasha admits, sheepish. “I guess I should have just told you myself.”

“Why didn’t you?” I don’t ask her to accuse her; I genuinely want to know. “You didn’t have any problems telling me that I was insecure because I felt threatened by Nadya.”

“Well, I believe in the importance of honesty,” replies Natasha, “but I also believe in saying the truth in the nicest way possible. And if the easiest way for you to hear it was from Rasi, then so be it. The truth can make you uncomfortable enough without someone being a jackass about it!”

“I see what you were trying to do, and I appreciate it,” I say to Natasha, hugging her.

She pats my back. “Will you please at least consider going to therapy?”

“I don’t want to go to therapy,” I almost whine. “I’m sick of people telling me I’m blowing this whole breakup thing out of proportion.”

“If anyone does that, they’re a horrible therapist,” says Natasha indignantly. “I met a few really dismissive therapists in training, and I’m so glad I never have to deal with them again. But I will not let that happen to you.” 

She pulls out her phone and types away. Moments later, my phone buzzes with a text. She texted me the email address of a woman named Dewi Iskandar.

  
“Who is this?” I ask Natasha. 

She smiles at me. “One of the head therapists at the place where I work now. She’s the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. If you do decide to try therapy, contact her. She has three daughters, so she’s had plenty of experience helping young women with the same thing you are going through.”

“Well, okay,” I acquiesce. “I’ll consider it.”

“Do you want to rejoin the party?” she asks.

“I think I’d better go home,” I say. “It’s been a long night for me.”

“All right,” says Natasha. “I’m going to wake Eric up and make him drink some more water. He seems fine, but he’ll have quite the hangover tomorrow if he doesn’t rehydrate.”

“Sounds good,” I say. “And thank you.”

Natasha smiles at me again. I head back out to the living room, and am stopped in my tracks by the sound of angry voices overlapping each other. 

“Nadya was totally justified in intervening!” Patrick’s voice rings out. “Mikha’s just mad she got dumped.”

I narrow my eyes and duck into the dark hallway, fighting with every fiber of my being not to fly out there and smack Patrick right in his stupid overgrown sideburns.

“How could you be so insensitive, Patrick?” Carrie snaps. “Yes, Mikha’s been mean lately, but getting broken up with is one of the worst feelings in the world! You of all people should know that, considering you’ve been cheated on!”

“I told you that in confidence, Carrie, and I said never to bring that up again! It’s in the past!” 

“If it’s in the past, then why do you still freak the fuck out whenever I mention Kayla? Are you not over her, even after two years?!”

“DON’T SAY HER NAME!” Patrick yells, and the sound of a bottle smashing on the ground punctuates his angry shout.

“THAT’S IT! WE ARE OVER!” Carrie screeches back. A moment later the front door slams.

“Carrie! Wait!” Patrick’s voice calls after her in despair.

_ Whoa _ . Did that just happen?

“Oh, my God,” I hear Nadya murmur.

“No…” Patrick’s voice trails off, forlorn.

“I’m really sorry about Carrie, but I’m glad you stood your ground, Patrick,” comes Rasi’s voice from the living room. “Mikha’s my friend, but I can’t see how anyone would side with her in this instance.”

“And I’m sorry I’ve been so weird with you, Rasi,” Patrick replies. “I thought for sure you’d take Mikha’s side, considering she sucks up all of your free time now. I should have known you were more reasonable than that.”

Ugh, Patrick totally deserved to get dumped! And wait, has Rasi been telling  _ everyone  _ I suck up all his free time? How long has he been talking bad about me behind my back?!

“Wait a minute, that’s not fair to Mikha,” Kamal’s voice protests. “People do terrible things when they’re hurting. I of all people would know.”

“What have  _ you  _ ever gone through, Mr. Confident?” Duncan snaps. “Besides spilling sauce on your fancy shirt, that is.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kamal sneers. 

Damn. He’s kind of terrifying, but I’m glad Kamal stood up for me. 

“Whatever,” says Duncan. “This resentment Mikha has against Nadya has got to stop.”

Duncan’s words pierce my heart with guilt. I know I haven’t been the most supportive friend to Nadya, but it seems that my jealousy towards her is affecting Duncan now, too. 

“I never wanted a fight,” says Nadya, sounding sad. “I have enough trouble at home with my dad already. And to think he’s picking me up in only an hour…” Nadya’s voice quivers.

“Come on, Nadya,” Kamal says. “Let’s go get a drink.”

“Duncan, will you help me clean up the kitchen?” asks Rasi.

“Sure thing,” replies Duncan. 

“I’ve got to go over to Carrie’s, to get my stuff,” says Patrick. “Whether or not I want to.”

I wait a few minutes to make sure everyone is occupied before slipping into the living room, hoping to just get out unnoticed. No such luck, though. Rasi just happens to look up from the plate he is scrubbing and notice me.

“Mikha, where are you going?” he asks. 

“Home,” I say, refusing to meet his eyes. I can’t believe he’s been talking bad about me to everyone!   
  
“Well, fine, you ruined my party anyway!” Rasi snaps. “Everyone’s fighting about you.”

_ Well, you should have kept your mouth shut. On Monday at work I’ll make sure a rotting durian falls on you,  _ I think as I leave without another word, letting the door slam shut behind me. 

But as I’m texting my mom to come pick me up, everything Rasi said to me earlier swirls in my mind. _This isn’t the Mikha I know!_ _Do you remember, Mikha, when Duncan first came here and you convinced Amy to give him a job, even though he had no experience? He wouldn’t be with us today if it weren’t for you. Where is the Mikha who would sacrifice anything, if it meant her loved ones’ needs were taken care of? This...this girl who feels threatened by her own friend...I don’t even know who she is anymore._

My next breath shudders on its way out.  _ I  _ don’t even recognize myself anymore. I don’t know what it is about this breakup that has made it take over my entire life, but it’s turned me into someone even  _ I  _ don’t like. And now it’s hurting my relationships, along with everyone else’s. 

With shaking hands, I open my text conversation with Natasha. For an agonizing moment, I stare at Dewi Iskandar’s email address. I take a deep breath as my finger hovers over it.

I know what I have to do. But I fear that now it may already be too late. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Plans Fall Apart

NADYA POV

“I know it’s one of the hardest things in the world to do,” Kamal says, steadying me with an arm around my shoulders, “but don’t let Mikha talk to you that way.”

I look down at the ground and sigh. “I know, I shouldn’t have,” I admit. “I was too complacent, as usual.”

“Well, that’s just about what you’d expect from someone who’s been beaten down by a parent,” Kamal says. “You can’t be blamed for it. But you  _ can  _ unlearn it.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. 

“You need to remember that not everyone is like your father. Not everyone is going to scream at you and threaten you if you dare stand up to them. Keeping your head down may be the only way to deal with your dad—at least for the time being—but it’s certainly not the only way to deal with a friend who has been mistreating you.”

“You’re saying I need to find another way to deal with Mikha? Usually I just let her say what she wants to. I know it isn’t true, so it doesn’t hurt me.”

That’s a lie. It crushes me to the core just to think I would ever be saying things like this about my best friend. But I keep my mouth shut. I’ve trusted Kamal with enough things for one night. I’m still not sure why he asked me to spend all night on his arm and avoid even looking at Duncan. A big part of me thinks he’s just trying to trick me into making Duncan so jealous he gives up on me, and then there won’t be any competition. Unless, of course, he  _ wants  _ to turn fighting for me into a competition.

Kamal sighs in frustration, obviously thinking that I need to get whatever he’s saying through my thick skull. Dread and anger creep up my spine as I begin to regret trusting him at all. 

My agitation must show on my face, for Kamal’s own face softens. He pauses, as if reconsidering his words, and finally says, “Look, I’m not saying this to criticize you. What I’m saying is that you need to unlearn the reflex reaction you’ve developed to any sort of conflict. Whenever anyone confronts you, you cower in terror to avoid angering them further. You learned that from being abused by your dad. But Mikha is not your dad. You can stand up to her.”

Stand up to Mikha? But she’s my friend. Or was, anyway. 

“I can’t stand up to her,” I panic. “She’ll turn everyone against me.”

“I promise you, she will not,” Kamal says, his voice steady. “Everyone but you can see that what she is doing is wrong.”

“I can see it, too!” I protest, annoyed. “I’m her main target, after all.”

“Fine. You may see it,” says Kamal, “but what good is that if you don't do anything about it?”

“I guess you’re right,” I say. “It’s just that with my dad, I’ve had to settle for giving in to him then telling myself I deserve better. I guess I learned to do that with Mikha, too, huh?”

Kamal nods. 

“Well, then,” I begin, “how do I fix it?”

“I can’t tell you how,” replies Kamal. “But you have to remember you weren’t put on this earth just to be silenced.”

“I...guess that makes sense,” I say. 

“Just give it time,” Kamal says. A sad smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Well, I guess now that I know I won’t make him mad, I can ask him the one thing I've been dying to know but afraid to ask him all evening. “Why do you care about helping me so much? Up until tonight you seemed so bent on pleasing my dad, and now you’re telling me you could see how much he’s been beating me down all along? If you knew, why didn’t you help me sooner?”

Kamal avoids meeting my eyes. “Look, Nadya, I’m really sorry I didn’t help you sooner. I’ve never been the most social person—I’m always so focused on my work—and I thought being set up with someone by her own father would be an easy ticket to finally meeting a girl without having to work for her.”

I snake out from under his arm and lean against the counter, folding my arms across my chest. “So you thought I was an easy target.”

Kamal goes red with shame. “I guess I can’t blame you for seeing it that way. But I don’t mean easy as in I could just, you know, get you into bed or anything. It’s just that I’ve never been great at approaching girls. I always cut right to the chase, only to be told that I’m being disrespectful.”

“Well, you were certainly being disrespectful when you walked out on me on our first date and stuck me with the bill!” I exclaim. “I got in so much trouble with my dad for not giving you a fair chance!”

Guilt shoots across Kamal’s face. “I didn’t know you got in trouble with him because of me.”

“Well, I did,” I say flatly.

“I behaved badly,” admits Kamal. “And I’m sorry. I never wanted to get you in trouble with your dad. You see, when he set me up with you, I had every intention of taking it seriously and getting to know you.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Uh-huh. I don’t buy it.”

Kamal continues, “I would be lying if I said I didn’t jump at the opportunity because your dad didn’t like Duncan. I’m not proud of that.”

“It was painfully obvious, Kamal,” I say. “I only went along with it because I had no choice.”

“Speaking of which,” says Kamal, “it didn’t take me long to figure your dad out. I always found it a little strange that he was pushing you into something with me even when you clearly weren’t interested. And when he told you today that you could only come to this party if you brought me as your date, I knew the only way to get your dad off your back was to pretend that you and I really were together.”

I stare at Kamal, shocked. “You mean...you’re manipulating my dad...to help  _ me?!  _ Kamal, if he found out—”

“He won’t. Just don’t breathe a word about my plan to anyone.”

“I’m not worried about myself,” I explain. “He’ll eat you alive!”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I don’t plan on being found out.” Kamal grins.

“Wait a minute,” I say. I uncross my arms and lower my voice, even though we’re clearly out of earshot of everyone else. “Is that why you told me to stick by you all evening and ignore Duncan?”

“Yes,” answers Kamal. “I had to cover our tracks. I didn’t want word getting back to your dad that it was all a ruse.”

“I’m confused,” I say. “Didn’t you just tell me I need to learn how to stand up for myself?”

“Yes, with Mikha,” Kamal clarifies. “With any normal person who will be at least some level of reasonable. But with your dad, until you can get away from him, you need to be careful. One step at a time.”

I knew I was right. I told Duncan so many times not to push my dad’s buttons, but he wouldn’t listen. He thinks brute force is the only way to follow through with all his crazy ideas.

“Okay, that makes sense, but there’s still something I don’t understand,” I say. “Why did you walk out on me on our first date?”

“Again, I apologize for that,” replies Kamal. “I’ll pay you back before we leave. But do you remember when you told me to mind my own business and stop trying to make everyone happy? Well, that—you—reminded me of my sister.”

“What about her?” I ask. 

“She...is not around anymore,” Kamal answers. He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t pry. I know all too well the pain of losing a family member and never wanting to talk about them.

“I see a lot of my sister in you,” Kamal says. “That’s why I want to help you.”

Silence falls between us for a long moment. I think of how supportive my mom would have been in helping me deal with Mikha if she were still alive. I think of the happy, albeit strict man my dad used to be before my mom died, and a wave of longing washes over me. If only the past could just come back. 

“Nadya? You okay?” Kamal’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I lie. “I’m really sorry about your sister. I didn’t know…”

“Don’t apologize, Nadya. I want you to stop apologizing for everything. Can you try to do that for me?”

I feel my face get hot. “Yes, I’m—I mean, yes, I’ll try.”

Kamal smiles at me. You wouldn’t think so to look at him, but he has a sweet smile. “Good.”

Hoping my friends outside are faring better than I am, I peek into the living room, where Rasi and Duncan are still washing all the dishes by hand. Mikha is gone. Rasi’s face is flushed and his hair disheveled. Duncan, on the other hand, looks completely and utterly confused. The dining room still lies in the ruins of our party-turned-disaster. Scraps of food everywhere, smithereens from the bottle Patrick smashed all over the floor, even a puddle of beer where Eric spilled his drink earlier. I’m guessing Rasi and Duncan have been doing a lot more talking than cleaning. 

“Poor Rasi,” I say. “He was so excited about having this party.”

“I could tell,” says Kamal.

“Do you think we should help them clean up?” I ask. 

“Sure, we can,” replies Kamal. “Just one more thing before we go. On our next ‘date’, how about I sneak you over to see Duncan? Your dad won’t suspect a thing.” 

“Do you really mean it?” I breathe. This almost feels too good to be true. 

“I sure as hell do,” says Kamal, pulling me into a quick one-armed hug. “And then maybe someday you’ll be my wingwoman if I ever need it?” he jokes.

I laugh. “You got yourself a deal.” 

“Perfect,” says Kamal. “You’ll break free from your dad. I know you will.”

“Hopefully sooner rather than later. I’ve saved up almost enough money to cover half the costs of an apartment for two, which I was going to share with Mikha, but that’s obviously not an option right now.” 

“Yeah, what  _ is  _ going on between you and Mikha?” a voice cuts in. I turn to see Duncan standing in the doorway to the kitchen, curiosity clearly having gotten the better of him. “I go to Australia to fix up my dead mom’s house,” he continues, “and when I get back Rasi tells me that you and Mikha got into a fight and haven’t been speaking for weeks. It’s obvious she’s very jealous of you.”

“She’s jealous of us, Duncan,” I explain. “She’s jealous of what we have.” I really thought he would be able to see that. 

“Us? What do  _ we  _ have that she could possibly be jealous of? We can’t even be together. All because you won’t stand up to your dad,” he says reproachfully.

I bite back a defensive retort to Duncan’s accusation and look to Kamal for support. Duncan glances rapidly between the two of us, bewildered. Kamal gives me an encouraging look and says, “Nadya, why don’t you tell Duncan the good news?”

  
  


“Nadya?” Duncan’s voice quivers. “What good news?”

He glances at Kamal’s arm, which is still around my shoulders, takes in the happy smile on my face, and his eyes, the honey brown eyes I fell in love with, turn to ice. He marches up to Kamal and gets right in his face. 

“Listen,” he snaps, “you may  _ think _ you can steal Nadya from me, but—”

“Duncan, stop!” I shout, jumping between him and Kamal. “I was wrong about him. He’s a good guy.”

Duncan goes white as a sheet. I try to read his expression, but fail completely. 

“Good guy, my ass!” Duncan shouts. “You’ve chosen your dad over me before, and Kamal is nothing but his sidekick. If you can’t see that then you’re not very bright.”

I almost crumble at his harsh words, but I gather my courage and open my mouth to protest. “Duncan—”

“No. Your dad is using Kamal to take you away from me, and you’re just going to let it happen because you have no backbone whatsoever. I can see it now; you’re going to be controlled by your dad for as long as he lives and never have the life you want for yourself.”

Tears flood my eyes, and I am too choked up to speak. Duncan basically just told me that my worst fear is going to come true. 

“A life controlled by your abusive, mentally ill father is not a life I want to live,” says Duncan quietly. “Which is why I’m not going to try to stay in your life any longer.” 

I stare at him in horror as I realize what he’s about to do. “Duncan, NO!” I plead.

He doesn’t give in. His gaze is stony and unfeeling. “Good luck, Nadya,” he spits. “You’re going to need it.”

And then Duncan whirls around and storms out the front door before I can say another word.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Help

DUNCAN POV

She chose him over me. 

After all I’ve been through, after all that time I stuck with her despite her refusing to stand up to her controlling excuse of a father, after all we’ve been through _together,_ Nadya chose Kamal over me. 

I had to break up with her then and there. There was no way in hell I could possibly bear the heartbreak of her leaving first. Not again. Not like she had so long ago, when she first found out I’d been keeping Sukarno a secret from her and everyone else. No, I simply could not let her leave me again. 

Which is why, this time, I had to leave her. Even though it fucking killed me. 

******

“Why, God, why? Why couldn’t I just bring everyone together again?” an anguished sob comes from Rasi’s room as I reluctantly crack open the front door. I didn’t want to go back to the house after the disastrous events that had unfolded there tonight, and was planning on sleeping under a tree in the forest. But the sound of Rasi crying—something I’ve never heard before in my life and never thought I _would_ hear—is so alarming it jerks my mind out of my spiraling thoughts and my feet into the house, as though it is beckoning me to go help my friend at once. My urgent concern for Rasi overtakes my crippling heartache at losing Nadya yet again, and I take off at a dead sprint to Rasi’s room. 

There I find Rasi on the floor, his back against the bed where Eric lies passed out drunk. Rasi shakes with sobs as he cries into his hands. I freeze in the doorway, for his intense, unabashed outpouring of emotions paralyzes me into a panic. For some reason, I’ve never been comfortable with others being emotional in front of me. Plus tears and Rasi are such an unheard of combination that I have absolutely no idea what he would want me to do for him at a time like this.

Somehow I find it in me to take several deep breaths, and am able to gather my thoughts. _Okay, Duncan, you can do this. You just have to be there for your friend. Don’t worry about getting it wrong. All you have to do is ask him what he needs._

“R-Rasi?” I ask haltingly. If I leave his room now, I won’t have to see him cry any longer. And who knows? He might be more comfortable if I leave him alone.

_Duncan, stop making excuses. He needs you._

“Are you all right?” I ask, then mentally kick myself. Of course he’s not all right. 

Rasi’s head snaps up to look at me. His eyes are red and his face streaked with tears.

“No!” he cries. “This is the by far the worst party I’ve ever thrown in my life.”

“The worst one I’ve ever been to as well,” I say, sitting down next to him and patting him on the shoulder. “Sorry, Ras, but it’s true,” I add when he flinches.

“Don’t tell me I caused more problems for you, too,” Rasi groans.

“Don’t you think for a minute this was your fault,” I order. “You had nothing to do with Nadya choosing Kamal over me.”

“Nadya _what?!”_ Rasi demands, his eyes going impossibly wide.

A big lump rises in my throat, choking me, and all I can do is nod my head once. 

Rasi envelops me in a bone-crushing man hug. “I’m so sorry.”

I squeeze his shoulder. “Me too, man. Me too.”

“But how? Why? I don’t understand,” says Rasi.

“I don’t, either,” I reply. “One moment, she was stealing hugs and kisses with me whenever she could at work. And then tonight, she refused to even look at me. Well, curiosity finally got the best of me, and I approached Nadya and Kamal, only for Nadya to tell me that Kamal was a ‘good guy’ and she was ‘wrong about him’ and Kamal to ask Nadya if she wanted to tell me the good news.”

Rasi’s face goes pale as a sheet. “I can’t believe she’d just dump you for Kamal like that, and with no explanation! Surely her dad must be behind this.”

I shake my head. “That seems too much like giving up, even for Nadya,” I say bitterly. “She must...really just like Kamal more than me. She clearly doesn’t realize that he’s nothing more than Budi’s pawn in all this.”

“A pawn with an agenda of his own…” muses Rasi. 

“Well, whatever it is, he achieved it,” I spit. “I knew Nadya gave up easily when it came to her dad. I just never would have dreamed she’d give up on me.” 

I feel my shoulders slump as I utter that last sentence. The whole long wait to be with her had been for nothing.

“I _can_ believe it,” says Rasi. “My first girlfriend did the same thing. She was a Hindu whose parents were from Bali and didn’t want her to date me, a Christian.”

“You really think religion has to do with all of this?” I ask, surprised. “I always thought Budi didn’t want Nadya to be with me because he just thought I was uncultured.” 

That’s not entirely true. I have always suspected that part of the reason Budi doesn’t like me is because I’m not religious. But I know how important religion is to Rasi, so I don’t want to give him the impression that I think it's a bad thing. Besides, it’s painfully clear that even if I were the most devout Muslim in the world, Budi would still hate my guts.

Rasi shakes his head. Now _his_ face has a bitter expression. “Look, Duncan, I appreciate you being open-minded and giving religion the benefit of the doubt, but the truth is religion keeping lovers apart is an all-too-common problem here.”

“But not everyone lets that get in the way,” I point out.

“I know that,” says Rasi. “My parents were surprised when I told them I was dating this Hindu girl, but once they met her, they didn’t have a problem with it. It was her parents that ultimately caused our breakup. And Rinaldi is a very devout Muslim, but he never has a problem with any guy Mikha brings home. At least, not until it’s too late and the guy’s already hurt her,” he snaps. 

“How many guys has Mikha been with?” I ask.

“She’s brought quite a few home, but they never seem to last. Arif was her longest, and he left after four months!”

“Weak,” I scoff. 

“Tell me about it!” exclaims Rasi. “He had the most amazing girl in the world, and he still couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering.”

_The most amazing girl in the world?_ Now where was that coming from? It’s the last thing I expected, considering how boiling mad Rasi was at Mikha not even an hour ago for ruining his party. I mean, she wasn’t _entirely_ at fault, but still.

Not exactly sure what to say, I decide to play it safe. “It’s bull. Mikha is one of the most loyal people I know. Any guy would be lucky to have her.”

“Yes, indeed,” he agrees. However, even as he says this, his expression changes, and his eyes turn cold. “But that is no excuse for how she treated Nadya tonight. Even though Nadya did make the greatest mistake of her life by choosing Kamal over you.”

I wince, not wanting to think about this. “Yeah, Mikha was really out of line tonight,” I say. “I sensed something was not right between her and Nadya at work, but it all came to a head tonight when I saw them argue and then you filled me in.”

“It’s bizarre, isn’t it?” says Rasi. “I’ve never known them to be anything other than best friends. But now it appears that we all have to be our own best friend. Every person for themselves.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” says Rasi. This rift in our friend group! It started out with everyone picking either Nadya’s or Mikha’s side, but now it has become everyone slowly turning on each other!” 

I say nothing, letting Rasi’s words sink in. Has this whole feud been brewing longer than I thought? It must have been. I never noticed because I was too caught up in the stuff about the house and my mom.

Rasi continues, “While you were in Australia, Patrick and Carrie were put off by Mikha’s behavior and supported Nadya, and then they started acting weird with me, too. I practically had to pull teeth to get them to come here tonight!”

“Yikes,” I say. “And now that they’ve broken up, who knows if they’ll both take the same side or not?”

“They’re the least of this problem,” says Rasi, though I notice his poorly disguised wince at the thought of Patrick and Carrie’s breakup making the feud even worse. “Just look at Eric,” he adds, pointing to the bed.

“Eric?” I turn my gaze to the owner of that name, who is sleeping so heavily it is as though not even God himself could wake him.

“He’s been so down about not being able to afford flight school. The price to become a commercial pilot is _ridiculous._ I had this party hoping he would loosen up for one night, not drink himself into oblivion.” Rasi sighs and stares at his unconscious best friend in dismay.

We sit in silence for a few minutes. Rasi continues to stare at Eric, and I let my eyes wander out the window into the forest. The full moon illuminates the treetops, making them appear silver, but then the light is swallowed into darkness by the trees. Just like my hopes and dreams for a life with Nadya were snatched away from me in an instant. 

It seems like I’m not the only one whose dreams have been shattered tonight. Sitting in the corner of the room is a bright pink gift bag I hadn’t noticed before, stuffed to the brim with surprises and copious amounts of pink tissue paper. Attached to the gift bag is a card in a pink envelope, with Mikha’s name and a heart scrawled in Rasi’s messy attempt at cursive.

Rasi finally yawns, stretches, then gets up. “I’ll be right back,” he says, taking Eric’s empty water glass with him. “I’m just going to refill this for Eric to have in the morning.”

As soon as I am sure he is gone, I scoot across the floor to get a closer look at the gift. The objects inside are of all shapes and sizes, but they’re so covered by tissue paper I don’t have a prayer of telling what they are. What I can tell, though, is that this is a gift that never had the chance to be given. And who knows? After tonight, it may never be given.

I hasten to return to my original spot beside the bed, before Rasi can catch me snooping in his gift for Mikha. Just as I assume my original position, Rasi reappears in the doorway, the now-refilled water glass in hand and some extra blankets tossed over his shoulder.

“Hey, what’s with the blankets?” I ask. 

“I’m gonna sleep in here with Eric tonight,” says Rasi. “I know Natasha said he’s fine, but I can’t help but worry.” He triple checks that Eric is sleeping on his side, nudging his back against the nightstand so he can’t roll over.

“At least _Eric_ has someone who cares about him no matter what,” I say, fighting to keep the resentment out of my voice. 

Rasi frowns at me, sympathetic. 

“I don’t know who to trust anymore,” I vent. “At first I assumed Mikha was just sad, and I was willing to wait as long as I had to to be with Nadya. But the way she so suddenly chose Kamal over me doesn’t make sense.”

‘She may have been hiding it,” says Rasi. “I sure know what it’s like to hide my feelings.”

“Feelings about what?” I ask. 

“About everyone always coming to me for help,” says Rasi. “They know I will, and I can’t let them down. But sometimes I just want to tell everyone to leave me alone and help themselves for a change. You feel?”

“I certainly do,” I reply. “I tried to help Nadya so many times by telling her to stand up to Budi, but she refused to listen. Nadya won’t _be_ helped.”

“Maybe you should ta—” Rasi stops mid-sentence and scowls. “You know what? _Don’t_ talk to her. I’ve tried that time and time again with Mikha, and look where it’s gotten me. Nadya had her chance, and she gave it up like every other entitled girl who just wants a guy to come along and take her away from all her problems while she sits back and lets him suffer trying to help her.” 

I stare at him, speechless. Is he really suggesting what I think he is suggesting?

Rasi adds, “Block her if you have to.” 

I hesitate, then cave. “Y-you’re right,” I say. “Enough is enough.”

I take out my phone and pull up Nadya’s contact. Her name has a red heart next to it. _Duncan, don’t do this! Maybe it was all a misunderstanding,_ a hopeful voice inside me protests. But I can’t afford to risk any more false hope. So, with firm resolve, I block Nadya’s number and delete her contact. _Goodbye, beautiful girl I loved._

I show Rasi the phone. He nods in approval. “I’m sorry, Duncan. But I’m proud of you.”

“What will we do at work?” I wonder, a feeling of dread creeping up my spine as I start planning all the ways I’m going to avoid Nadya tomorrow. 

“I don’t know,” says Rasi. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

I glance at the clock, which reads one-thirty. “Oh, so in six and a half hours?”

Rasi looks at the clock, too. _“Anjrit,”_ he curses under his breath. He lays a blanket down on the ground beside the bed, lays down on it, and grimaces. 

“Waaaay too cold and hard,” he says. He ponders the bed for a long moment, then climbs in beside Eric. “Tell no one about this,” he spits at me.

As dismal as the situation is, I can’t help but laugh at that. “I won’t. But hand me one of those blankets. I won’t let my friend camp out here for a pity party by himself.”

Rasi reaches down and tosses a blue blanket at me. “But where will you sleep?”

I wrap myself in the thin blanket and lounge across the floor, grinning wordlessly at him. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. Pep Talk

MIKHA POV

“Mikha! You overslept!” 

“Huh?” I lurch upright in bed to see my mom standing over me. The sunlight pouring in hurts my eyes, and instinctively I blink rapidly, shutting out the unwelcome, blinding intrusion. My vision gradually returns, and the blurry image of my mom comes into focus. I can see that she is already dressed and her blue hijab styled impeccably in the latest fashion.  _ How does she do it?? _

“That’s right, honey, it’s half past eight,” my mom says. “Time to get up.”

“How did I even oversleep?” I demand.

As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I spot my phone on the floor, and realize my alarm never went off. Confused, I try to turn my phone on, but am met with a black screen and the battery logo telling me to charge it.

“What?! I plugged it in!” I shout. 

“Looks like you need a new charger,” my mom replies, pointing at the cable I now notice is frayed and bent at strange angles. No wonder it doesn’t work anymore. I try plugging it in again, but it’s no use. My phone won’t charge.

This is shaping up to be a  _ great  _ day so far. Of course I of all people would be late for my first day of therapy. 

My mom picks my phone up off the floor and says, “I’ll go charge your phone in the kitchen. I’ve got to run some errands, so I’ll pick you up a new one while you’re at therapy.”

She is officially my savior. 

“Oh, Mom, you’re the best!” I cry. “But I thought I was going to do errands with you.”

“Don’t worry about them today,” she replies. “You can help me with dinner tonight, and then help Angga clean his room later. I think that’s a fair compromise.”

Ugh. Angga’s room is a black hole where endless snack wrappers disappear and mud-caked clothes get tossed all over like debris in a tornado. But my mom  _ is  _ saving my butt to keep me from being late to therapy, so I can’t argue.

“Sure,” I say. “Happy to help.”

My mom glances at the time on her own phone and frowns. “For now, though, you’d better get ready. We have to leave in twenty,” she says, holding out her phone to me so I can see. 

It’s half past eight. I have to be at therapy at nine. 

“ _ Twenty minutes?”  _ I panic. “I won’t have time to get ready!”

“Well, then, you’d better make the most of the time you’ve got. Here’s your tea to help power you up!” She sets a steaming mug on my nightstand and leaves my room. 

I snatch the mug of tea and make a beeline for my closet, only to discover that I have no more clean clothes. When was the last time I even did laundry? The only unused outfit I have is my spare ORP uniform.

Whatever. At least it’s clean. I quickly change into it and head for my desk, where my bright pink makeup bag sits. I unzip the bag and pull out only the essentials: foundation, eyeliner, and mascara. The shimmery red eyeshadow I’ve been dying to try out will just have to wait. Besides, who wears that to therapy? 

In a surprising burst of coordination—spurred on, no doubt, by suddenly being in a huge hurry—I use one hand to apply foundation and the other to chug my tea, which I realize upon taking the first sip is still scalding hot.

“Ow!” I exclaim, sucking in sharp, rapid breaths of cool air in the hopes it can somehow reverse the damage the burn has already done. Can this day get any worse? 

Because a burned tongue is better than being brain dead from caffeine deprivation, I continue to gulp down my tea, ignoring the burning pain that comes with each sip. Instead, I try to focus on how much more alert each sip makes me. 

_ Focus on the good.  _ I’ll probably be hearing that a lot in therapy. It’s all I’ve heard from my family these past few months, after all. 

I finish my foundation and apply my mascara, still using my one-hand-for-tea-one-for-makeup technique. By the time the tea cools down, my burned tongue is numb to the temperature anyway. However, I poke myself in the eyes with my mascara several times, which leads to me smudging my makeup. Tea or no tea, I am barely able to keep my eyes open this early in the morning. At least, I’ve had a hard time getting up since  _ it  _ happened.

I finish my makeup and tea in record time, smudges and burned tongue and all. After a moment’s consideration, I yank my brush through my hair, which I didn’t realize until now has become longer than ever, and settle for pulling it into a low ponytail. No hair care routine today. 

This is  _ not  _ my idea of a relaxing Sunday off.

“And that, Angga, is how orangutans communicate with each other,” I hear my dad say as I amble down the hallway into the kitchen. Angga and my dad are sitting at the table watching an orangutan documentary. Angga scarfs down a mountain of my mom’s homemade yellow rice, his bulging eyes fixed intently on the screen as he watches two male orangutans fight over a jackfruit.

“Morning, Mikh!” my dad exclaims as he notices me. “What are you all dressed up for on this bright Sunday morning? In your work clothes, no less?”

“I’ve gotta go to therapy,” I say glumly. “And I had no other clean clothes.”

My dad pushes up from his chair and comes over to hug me. “Why the long face?” he asks. “You were so insistent on getting therapy when you came back from the party Friday night.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” I complain. After I came home from that disaster evening, I crawled into bed crying. The next morning, I woke up to an email from Dewi Iskandar. She said she would be happy to see me, but she didn’t normally work on weekends. This sent me into a brief panic, as I had asked to see her as soon as possible. I wanted to get a session in before I got too scared and changed my mind. I’m booked solid at work the entire coming week, so I called in a favor and had Natasha ask Dewi to make time for me before the weekend was over. So, here I am, spending my only day off getting up to go to my first ever therapy session.

My dad seems to read something in my expression. “Are you scared?” he asks. 

Wordlessly, I nod my head, burying my face into his shirt. 

My dad rubs my back, and for a moment the world disappears and I forget how badly I am hurting. 

“I can understand that,” he says. “You know, I never saw the point in going to therapy. My family was always there for me when I needed them.”

Wait. Why do I need therapy then? Is there something wrong with me? Nadya’s dad is awful, and  _ she  _ isn’t in therapy.

Am I weak for needing extra help?

“I’m not sure why I need it, either,” I admit. “But Natasha says she thinks it would be good for me, and she’s the expert.”

“Well, I’m glad you have a friend like her. And you know we’re here for you, too,” my dad replies.

I know that. My family has always been there. So why do I still feel like I’m lacking something? What if my dad is right, and therapy does nothing for me? If it doesn’t help, then what will?

Crap. Maybe this is a mistake after all. Oh, well, I never have to go back after this first appointment if I don’t want to. 

“Mikha?” my dad asks. “Is everything all right?”

_ Yes. No. I don’t know!  _

In the driveway, I hear my mom start the car and honk the horn. Looks like that’s my cue.

“I’m fine, Dad,” I say, forcing a small smile. “I’m just nervous, that’s all.” I don’t have time to discuss any more than that. I have to leave now, or I’ll be late.

My dad beams at me. “That’s my Mikha. Always go for what you want, no matter how scary it is. If you feel that therapy is the right thing for you, then I’m proud of you for going after it.”

That’s my dad, always believing in me no matter what. I smile a real smile this time, my confidence somewhat restored. “Thanks, Dad.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. The First Session

MIKHA POV

After my mom drops me off, I wander around Dewi Iskandar’s waiting room. There are plenty of empty chairs—the only other person in the waiting room is a middle-aged woman with worried lines on her face—but I’m too nervous to sit down. So instead, I pace between the walls, trying to find what little bit of peace I can by staring at the pictures hanging off of them. At one end of the room is an image of an unrealistically purple sky, the same background I see in videos of relaxing music I use on sleepless nights when I toss and turn and think about what could have been. Another image that catches my eye is a painting of a man and woman sharing an embrace in the middle of a lush green forest, looking out at the waterfall in front of them. Even though it’s just a painting, the very sight triggers my anger at being left all alone. I feel my throat get tight and my hands start to shake with frustration. I sit on them, hoping the woman in the waiting room with me doesn’t notice. Ugh, why am I having such a reaction to a picture?!

_ That’s why you’re here, Mikha,  _ I remind myself.  _ To vent these feelings so you can understand them. _

The sound of a door swinging open snaps me out of my thoughts. In the doorway stand a girl of about thirteen and a beautiful woman with long hair. The girl bounds across the waiting room to the worried-looking woman, presumably her mom. There is a spring in the girl’s step and a calm smile on her face as she reaches her mom and hugs her. As the mom returns the embrace, the worried lines on her face all but disappear.

“She did great for her first session,” the long-haired woman tells the mom with a warm smile. “We made a lot of progress today, didn’t we, Dara?”

“Yes, thank you,  _ Bu  _ Dewi!” the girl exclaims.

Huh. Maybe the first session isn’t as scary as it sounds after all.

“I’ll see you next week,” Dewi says to the mother and daughter as they leave. 

I study Dewi. She is wearing a flowy red gown and gold earrings. Her long, luscious hair cascades down her back like a dark waterfall. This strange aura of peace seems to surround her, which should calm me down, but instead only intimidates me more. How will I ever come clean to this woman who seems so grounded about what a mess I am? 

I knew therapy would be hard work, but I didn’t think it’d be  _ embarrassing.  _

“ _ Nona  _ Mikha?” Dewi addresses me. 

“Yes, that’s me,” I reply.

“So nice to meet you, Mikha.” We shake hands, and she places her hand over her heart after releasing mine. I respond with a tentative smile, and she motions for me to follow her into her office.

Inside her office are two comfortable-looking purple chairs facing each other. A huge amethyst geode is placed next to one of them. The big, spiky purple crystals inside glitter like diamonds. Her desk is piled high with neat stacks of paperwork, and the walls are plastered with pictures of her husband, kids, and cats, as well as a plethora of thank-you notes from clients whose lives she undoubtedly changed for the better. Wow, this woman really has her life together.

“As you know, my name is Dewi,” she says as we sit down. “What did you come to me for today?”

I swallow nervously. “A-as you know, my friend Natasha Hartono recommended you to me.”

“Ah, yes.” Dewi’s lovely face melts into a fond smile. “Natasha is so sweet, and very driven. I’ve never seen any trainee progress as quickly as she did. Now that she’s licensed, I’ve even considered referring some of my clients to her.”

“Wow. That good, huh?” I’m not surprised. Even when my thoughts were such a jumbled-up mess that I didn’t know what to believe, Natasha could practically read my mind.

Dewi nods. “That’s why when she asked me to open up my office today for you, I knew it was important. It worked out well, since I had another client reschedule last minute to today, too.”

“It’s important,” I agree. “Natasha helped me realize I’ve been ruining my friendships.” It really,  _ really  _ stings to admit it, and a big part of me still feels like it’s Nadya’s fault, but if everyone is saying that it’s my fault, then I guess I should least try to find out why.

“Okay,” says Dewi, scribbling on a notepad. “I’m listening.”

I stiffen. I didn’t know she’d be taking  _ notes  _ on me. I thought this would be a safe space to vent, not a conversation that would feel like a job interview. I fold my hands together in my lap to keep from biting my nails, my eyes glued to her notepad.

Dewi must sense my anxiety, for she holds the notepad out to me so I can see that all she wrote was exactly what I just told her. 

“I have to take notes so I can help you,” she explains. “But they won’t be shown to anyone. Everything said in this room is confidential, unless you talk about hurting yourself or others.”

That makes sense. And I’ve never really thought about hurting myself. 

I let out a breath and continue, “Ever since my ex broke up with me, I have felt so jealous of the relationship my friends Nadya and Duncan have. I couldn’t stand to see them together, and Nadya and I got into a huge fight and haven’t been speaking.”

“All right,” says Dewi. “Go on.”

Over the next half hour, I tell her everything, from feeling bad about being jealous of Nadya at the market to Rasi confronting me about not being myself anymore. Dewi listens intently, continuing to write on her notepad as she does so. When I get to the part about how I cried after seeing yet another photo of Arif with his new girl last night, I stop and hide my face in my hands, unable to continue. 

“I’m very sorry you saw that, Mikha,” Dewi says sympathetically. “It’s always hard when a relationship ends, but it hurts even more when the person you loved moves on so quickly.”

I sniffle. “When I see pictures of them together, I wonder if he ever cared about me at all, or if I just lived a lie the whole time I was with him.”

“And you may never get that answer,” she replies. “Sometimes, the only way you can get closure is to create it for yourself.”

_ WHAT?! _

“But...that’s impossible!” I splutter. “How can I live without an answer?” There  _ has  _ to be one. I came here to get answers, not be told to learn to live without them! 

“I can help you with that,” says Dewi, “but you have to be open to learning. Can you do that for me?”

I nod, deeply ashamed. I’ll probably just do this wrong anyway.

“Perfect,” says Dewi. “Now, could you please tell me a little more about the breakup? Who ended the relationship, and why?”   
  


Ah, yes. The big thing I’ve been avoiding talking about with anyone. Up until the big fight at the party, I’d always gone to Rasi for comfort, but come to think of it, we never actually talked about what happened with Arif. Why would I rub salt in an already festering wound when I could simply put a bandaid over it? But now, here comes Dewi, ripping the bandaid off and exposing the wound. The ugly, gaping wound. I blink rapidly, but it isn’t enough to stifle the sob that rises in my throat. I should have prepared myself better for this. 

Dewi grabs a box of tissues off her desk and hands it to me. I take one and wipe my eyes. 

“I understand this is difficult for you, Mikha,” she sympathizes, “but the breakup is obviously the driving force behind your bad feelings. That is why I need to know a little more about it to make a fair assessment.”

Fair assessment? What does she mean by that? Does she want Arif’s side of the story now, too? Therapists are supposed to be on  _ your  _ side! 

I resist the urge to clap back at her and confess, “When Arif broke up with me, he told me my tendency to be overly emotional about things was too much to deal with.”

“Ah, so he felt like you were too emotional for him. Do you think he has a point?”

“No!” I insist, but I doubt myself as soon as the words leave my mouth. “I mean, maybe. I  _ have  _ been told I’ve been drowning in self-pity ever since the breakup. That seems to be the consensus among my friends, at any rate.”

“Being emotional isn’t a bad thing, Mikha,” Dewi tells me. “I always say, if I had to choose between feeling things very strongly or not at all, I’d pick the first one any day.”

“But it hurts more that way,” I blurt, then cover my mouth. Did I really just say that?

I expect Dewi to lecture me on not getting my heart set too much on things so I don’t get crippled by sadness when things don’t go my way, but instead she reaches forward to lay a hand on my arm and says, “Yes, I’m afraid you’re right about that. Fortunately, though, with a little work and self-reflection, learning to regulate and process your emotions in a healthier way is completely possible.”

Yeah, I need to do that. I’m not even going to try to deny this one.

Dewi asks me, “Did Arif give you any other reasons why he broke up with you?”

Yikes. The second reason was a  _ huge  _ blow to my ego.

I reply, “Since he was two years older than me and about to start his first ‘real’ job, I guess he thought I held him back.”

Dewi nods. “I see. That must have made you feel really insignificant.” 

“Yes,” I sniffle, feeling the tears start to come yet again. I swallow hard, making every effort possible to keep them from spilling over. 

“He said he needed to think of his future,” I say tearfully. “I guess his future didn’t include me.”

At this, Dewi stops scribbling on her notepad. She looks at me with the gaze of a sympathetic mother who went through the same thing herself many years ago. 

“I’m so sorry, Mikha,” she murmurs. “When someone who claims we are important to them doesn’t consider us, it’s an awful feeling.”

I stare hard at the purple rug beneath my feet and nod as a few tears spill down my cheeks. I quickly grab another tissue and wipe them, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Dewi as I do so. 

“However,” Dewi begins, and I can almost hear the caveat in her voice, “I think it can’t hurt to try to see things from his perspective. Maybe this was simply the right thing for him.”

That’s exactly what I was afraid of. That the right thing was dumping me. How could abandoning me the way he did possibly be right?

“But he left me with no warning at all!” I protest. “He never told me anything was bothering him. In fact, he said it was cute how excited I got about things. I had the greatest four months of my life with him. And then, before I knew it, before I could even blink an eye, he up and left, claiming I was too emotional!” 

I huff, extremely annoyed with Dewi. Can she  _ really  _ not see that Arif’s actions didn’t match his words? Plus the playing devil’s advocate crap is making me want to bash my head through a freaking wall. Of all the therapists in Indonesia, I can’t believe I picked the one who doesn’t understand me at all! And how could she, when her own life is so perfect?

Dewi waits patiently for me to compose myself. When she finally does speak again, her voice is gentle. “Well, the way he handled things wasn’t right. Not at all.”

I instantly sit up a little straighter. “You mean, you agree that what happened to me was bad?”

For just a split second, Dewi throws her head back and laughs out loud. Her laugh sounds sweet and hearty at the same time. This burst of emotion doesn’t last long, though. Her expression quickly sobers as if she flipped a switch, and just like that, she slips right back into professionalism and says, “Of course what happened to you was bad. You know, I could tell by the way you were crossing your arms and avoiding eye contact that you were frustrated when I asked you to see things from Arif’s side. But there was a purpose for that.”

“Oh,” I mutter, feeling a little embarrassed about being so visibly mad. “What was it?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you think it is?”

“So I’ll see why everyone is saying the tension among our friends is my fault?” 

“Well, it is always good to be able to take accountability for our part in conflicts,” Dewi says, “but that’s not quite what I was going for. I was trying to get a better picture of the whole situation with your ex-boyfriend, and maybe give you some perspective too.”

“Perspective? What do you mean?” I draw my eyebrows together, hoping she isn’t about to tell me what my parents do—that someday, I’ll find another, better guy, and Arif won’t matter anymore. 

Dewi explains, “I wanted you to see that Arif wasn’t some great god whose love you lost because you weren’t good enough to keep it. From what I understand now that you’ve told me, he seemed to think you were disposable, and he was only happy to stay in the relationship as long as things were convenient for him. As soon as he had a problem, he just left. He made no effort to discuss the issue with you.”

Wow. I hadn’t thought of it that way before. 

“Let me ask,” Dewi says, “do  _ you _ think you are disposable, Mikha?”

_ What?!  _ No! I mean, am I?

“I didn’t think so,” I tell her. “But I guess to him I was.”

“But that does not mean you are,” Dewi implores. “Don’t you think it would benefit you to not define yourself by what others think of you?”

Ouch. 

Dewi and I sit in silence for a moment as I ruminate over her question. She watches me, her notebook and pen now in her lap, forgotten. I can’t quite read her expression, but I can sense the deep compassion she has for me nonetheless. She doesn’t press me to speak before I’m ready, instead meeting my eyes with an earnest gaze.

“He’s just a silly boy,” Dewi continues, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “There are a lot of those out there. You’ll learn to weed them out eventually.”

Great. The same thing my parents have told me over and over. 

“However,” she says, “that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell right now.”

I freeze. My eyes flood with tears once again, but for some reason, this time I’m not ashamed to look her in the eyes and be emotional in front of her. Somehow, I no longer feel like I’m at a job interview. The scary part is over. She’s seen the ugly parts of me, the deep, dark thoughts I’ve never shared with anyone, and she is still a safe person for me to vent to after all. And I am now also very aware of things that, up until now, I had no idea I was feeling.

“You know, I’ve gone through a lot of emotions the past few months,” I tell her. “I’ve been absolutely crushed, I’ve wondered why I wasn’t good enough for Arif, and I’ve been incredibly jealous around other couples, because I can’t stand to watch them bask in the love I knew I wasn’t good enough to keep. But now, I feel so incredibly angry at Arif. It was wrong for him to leave without even trying to communicate with me. That’s what people in relationships  _ do. _ ” 

“That’s exactly what I hoped you would realize, Mikha,” smiles Dewi. “And you know what? I’m very proud of you for arriving at that kind of insight. Not everyone can do that at the first session. Some people never do at all. And I’m going to let you in on a little secret. My very first relationship ended quite the same way yours did.”

I grin back at her. It seems so ridiculous to think that this woman, this gorgeous, incredibly sage woman, once got dumped the exact same way I did. And she wasn’t ashamed to talk about it. Maybe she isn’t some perfect goddess to be feared after all. 

I laugh bitterly, “There’s nothing special at all about a boy who would rather leave like I meant nothing than talk through problems that needed to be addressed.”

It’s true, but even as I say it, I realize I haven’t been much better about talking about my own struggles. 

“Actually, it’s a bit hypocritical of me to say that,” I admit. 

“Oh?” says Dewi. “And why is that?”

  
  


I sigh. “I’ve been dwelling so much on how bad being dumped made me feel that I spread that misery around without ever really getting to the bottom of the problem.”

“So you believe that you spent so much energy feeling bad that you never talked about the problem itself? Am I understanding that correctly?” Dewi asks. 

I nod. “I was stuck in an endless cycle. Rasi couldn’t get through to me no matter how hard he tried, and I’ve been so insensitive towards Nadya that I wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to talk to me again.” I lower my head, thinking wistfully of the friends that could have helped me had I only let them. Had I not been too stuck in my own head to listen to someone else.

Dewi frowns, her forehead creasing with concern. “It sounds like you have some friendships to repair, Mikha. And I’ll be honest, it’s going to be hard work.”

Not what I wanted to hear, but I got myself into this mess, I’m digging myself out.

Dewi glances at her clock and says, “I’m afraid we’re just about out of time for today. I’ll put you on my schedule for next week, and email you a step-by-step guide to walk you through having difficult conversations in a few minutes. Okay?”

“All right.” Jeez, who would have thought I’d have homework for  _ therapy? _

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mikha,” says Dewi. She shakes my hand and places her own hand to her heart. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.”

“Thank you for today’s session.” 

I pay her, and she shows me the way out. I scan the parking lot for my mom’s car, only to realize that she isn’t here yet. I heave a sigh and text her that I’m done at therapy. Just as I hit send, I get an email notification from Dewi. It’s the guide for difficult conversations. 

I skim through it. It’s five pages long. Five whole pages. And before I even get to the steps, there are a whole bunch of questions the guide says I should be asking myself. 

_ How might have you contributed to the conflict? Why do you feel the need to have this conversation in the first place? Are you being more emotional than the situation warrants? _

I close the email immediately. As productive as my first therapy session was, I’ve still just spent an hour picking myself apart. That’s enough accountability for one day.

There is a hell of a lot more work ahead of me than I thought. But I’ve got no choice other than to tackle it. It’s now or never.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	16. Branching Out

NADYA POV

This may very well be one of the loneliest days of my life. And, considering the years I’ve spent holed up in my room, isolated from the world, that’s saying a lot for me. 

It’s the Monday after the disastrous party. I’ve been at work for an hour, and no one has said a word to me. No one has said a word to anyone, hardly. I’ve spent the last hour alone, filling and refilling a big bucket with soy milk formula and distributing it among the orangutans. Some of them receive their share eagerly. A few gurgle the milk in their mouths and lose half of it as it dribbles down their red fur. And Bintang, the young male who attacked Duncan when Iwan was doing the orangutans’ vaccines so long ago, tries to brush past me and sticks his hand into the milk bucket in an attempt to scoop out more. After a moment’s consideration, I fish my mid-morning snack out of my pocket and prepare to sacrifice it for the purpose of distracting Bintang. As he gobbles up my mango, five more baby orangutans are on him like a pack of dogs, fighting him for his prize, while the rest approach me and the milk bucket. I try to find some enjoyment in listening to them squeal as they flock around me to get their share of the milk, but am still painfully aware of my otherwise silent surroundings. 

Several yards away from me, Mikha crouches on the ground with a plastic snake in her hand, pretending to attack baby orangutans with it when they get too close. Some orangutans hiss and flee, while others only inch closer, curious about the snake. Mikha praises the ones that run away, for they are able to recognize that venomous snakes are a threat to their lives. 

“Good job, Citra!” she praises a long-haired female. “Who’s afraid of the bad, scary snake? You’re so smart!”

I’ve never been a huge fan of that task; snakes scare me. But it must be done to increase the orangutans’ chances at survival in the wild. They have to know what hazards to avoid. At least Mikha’s always been stellar at that task. Her nurturing, encouraging self hasn’t gone anywhere when it comes to working with the orangutans, at least. Mikha works with her back to me, but every so often, she throws me a backward glance over her shoulder. 

Even Rasi and Eric have been quiet. Not once today have I seen them mock wrestle or heard their shouts and laughs over each others’ bad jokes. Instead, they walk past the feeding platform with their heads close together, whispering to each other. When they reach me, Rasi narrows his eyes and hisses at Eric to look the other way. Eric makes a big show of looking in the opposite direction from me as they pass me.

“If you’re looking for your new  _ boyfriend _ , he’s in the office,” Rasi spits at me before ignoring me right along with Eric. 

New boyfriend?!

I shake my head and go back to distributing milk to the orangutans. All weekend long, I tried and tried to contact Duncan and explain that I did  _ not  _ have a thing with Kamal or anyone else, but shortly after I got home on Friday, the messages stopped going through. I tried to reach Rasi and Eric, too, in the hopes that one of them could get through to Duncan if I couldn’t, but I never got any response. And now, with great reluctance, I infer from Rasi’s frosty attitude towards me that Duncan must really believe I chose Kamal over him, and he’s gotten Rasi and Eric to believe it, too. Even though he’s wrong, it’s not in my power to convince him otherwise. 

“Oh, pleeeeeaaaase, Rinaldi?” I hear Eric beg from across the yard. “Not even if I helped Kamal with the paperwork? I, uh, think I saw him misplace a few folders the other day!” 

I follow my ears to the commotion. Rinaldi ambles over to the feeding platform with an overflowing sack of mangosteens for the orangutans. Eric is hot on his heels, all but groveling as he continues his fruitless pleas for a raise. Rinaldi shakes his head with an amused smile. 

“No can do, Eric,” Rinaldi says. “I wish ORP had it in its budget to offer more raises. Unfortunately, all our money goes to big sacks of orangutan food like this!” Rinaldi hoists the bag of mangosteens onto the feeding platform with remarkable strength for a man of his age. The round purple fruits scatter across the platform, and the orangutans shove each other out of the way to grab as much food as they can.

“Well, maybe I could, you know, grow some of the food myself? For a raise?” Eric falters, deflated. 

“I’m afraid I still can’t give you a raise, but if you have a garden and the necessary resources, be my guest,” Rinaldi laughs as he turns and heads back to his office.

Eric’s shoulders droop.

“I’ll try again next week,” he mutters to himself. “Third time’s the charm, after all. I’ve got to get the money for flight school from  _ some _ where!”

“You’ll get it one day, Eric!” Naila croons as she and Yasmin walk past him, jostling each other to get closer to him. “We have faith in you!”

“Yeah!” agrees Yasmin, batting her eyelashes. “You just have to work for it!” 

“Gee, thanks, that makes me feel  _ so  _ much better,” Eric quips under his breath. The girls giggle and continue on their way.

Five minutes later, the milk bucket is empty and the orangutans full. I head inside to grab my water bottle when I spot Carrie leaning against the side of the building, her head in her hands.

Uh-oh. She and Patrick must be fighting again. 

Maybe this is my chance to find a new best friend. Considering Carrie and I both broke up with our boyfriends—not that I ever  _ could  _ call Duncan my boyfriend—maybe we can join forces and have each other’s backs.

Should I, though? I know Mikha was the one who decided not to talk to me, but won’t searching for a new best friend in Carrie just finalize the death of my friendship with Mikha? Plus she’ll probably feel bad when she sees me hanging out with Carrie. Not to mention the added stress at work of Patrick hating me, too. Maybe it isn’t a good idea. 

But do I really want to go through life alone? What do I do when I have no one to turn to? Do I toughen up and resign myself to a life of solitude, or do I go out on a limb and reach out to someone I once never thought I’d be trying to connect with?

I think I know my answer.

I hurry inside, find some cups in the office, and pour some water for both myself and Carrie. I pass Duncan on my way out of the office, and he all but runs into the other room.  _ Coward.  _

I go back outside to find Carrie still crying outside the building. Careful not to intrude on her space, I slowly approach her.

“Hey, Carrie? Are you okay?” I ask. “Uh, stupid question, I know.”

Carrie looks up at me, her cheeks streaked with mascara-tinted tears. She chokes back a sob and manages a watery smile.

“Thanks for checking on me, Nadya,” she says. “Everyone else seems too focused on ignoring each other to notice me.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right about that. Water?” I hold one of the cups out to her.

Carrie takes the cup from me and begins sipping the water. She wipes her eyes, and sighs when she sees the black smudge of mascara on the back of her hand.

“Uh, here.” I pull a pack of tissues out of my pocket and hand one to her. She takes it gratefully and cleans up her face and hands.

Carrie says, “I heard Duncan broke up with you the night of the party, too. I’m sorry.”

“Well, we weren’t exactly dating,” I say, “but thanks anyway.”

Carrie and I share a glum, sympathetic look, and I realize that this is the first time I’ve ever commiserated over my love life with a girl going through the exact same thing. I’d never been involved with a guy until I met Duncan, and any time Mikha’s dates ended poorly, she would cry for days. Arif was by far the worst, of course. But now, as I share this moment with Carrie, I realize that I just might find a friend in her. 

“Hey, Carrie? Do you want to eat lunch together today?” I ask nervously. “You can vent to me, or we can talk about other things. It’s up to you.”

Carrie smiles a real smile this time, her teeth showing. “Thanks, Nadya, I’d love that. It would help to talk to someone for sure. Just let’s maybe find a private spot so Patrick—I mean no one—overhears us?”

I laugh. “Sure. I don’t think Duncan needs to hear us either.”

  
  
  
  
  



	17. Old Friends, New Friends

NADYA POV

“This is just the beginning, Nadya,” Kamal says to me, his voice almost a warning, “but I’m happy for you anyway. You did a good thing.”

“Just the beginning of what?” I ask. 

“You making your own decisions. I know it wasn’t easy for you to initiate a friendship with Carrie.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“But Nadya, you’re going to have a lot more decisions to make than that. And I’m telling you, not everyone is going to be as eager to go along with your plans as Carrie seems to be.”

Kamal’s right. I have another flashback of my dad screaming at me the moment I even  _ suggested  _ that Duncan was special— _ was  _ being the operative word now—and a chill creeps up my spine. 

Kamal frowns at me. “You’re going to have to get better at acting like your dad isn’t getting to you.”

“But he does!” I protest.

“I know. But around him, you’re going to have to act like he doesn’t, or he’ll realize that his screaming tactics work.”

My mind goes back to last week, when I tried to play it cool with a poker face as my dad grilled me about why I hadn’t gone out with Kamal in days. No matter how much he insisted that I  _ must  _ be seeing Duncan behind his back, I fought tooth and nail not to burst into tears. My lack of a reaction drove my dad to pepper me with even more questions and call me even more names than usual. I went to the bathroom and was actually sick from anxiety after that conversation ended. 

“I’m not so sure about that, Kamal,” I say. “Me playing it cool just seems to freak him out even more.”

“Good. Then it’s having the desired effect.” Kamal glances at the time on his phone and saunters off. 

Unsure what Kamal means, I check the time on my own phone. Half past noon. Time to meet Carrie for lunch.

When I enter the office to grab my noodles, Carrie is already there. She waves me over, her own lunch in hand.

“Nadya!” she exclaims. “Guess what?”

“What is it?”

“Patrick quit!”

“Wait, really?”

“Really!” Carrie cries. 

“Oh, my god. When?”

“This morning, after you and I talked.” She snorts. “Gave up a perfectly decent job just to avoid seeing the girl he screwed over for two years.” 

As if on cue, Duncan tiptoes into the office to get his lunch. But at Carrie’s words, he freezes in the doorway, his face suddenly turning white. His stomach growls loudly—he always did have a loud stomach, which I used to think was the cutest thing in the world—and he clutches a hand to it. However, after a long moment of glancing between me and the hand placed on his middle, as if contemplating his rumbling stomach, Duncan sighs and turns to go back outside. 

Carrie clucks her tongue. “I hate to say it, but I can see Duncan following suit,” she whispers to me. 

I sigh. “Let’s just eat lunch outside. You can come to my favorite spot with me. I’ll tell you more if you want to know.”

Carrie’s face lights up. “I  _ always  _ want to know. I mean, whatever you’re comfortable sharing, that is.” A tiny blush spreads across her cheeks.

I give her a small smile and lead her to my favorite spot where the baby orangutans play. I’ve always found eating near the babies to be extremely relaxing. Even on my worst days with my dad, when I feel like my stomach is in a knot, as soon as I reach my spot with the babies, my worries melt away and my appetite returns to normal. Except now I’m a bit nervous about how this whole thing with Carrie is going to play out. I hope she accepts me. 

Carrie unpacks her lunch. I expect her to bring a sandwich or something, and am surprised when she reveals a hearty portion of Indonesian curried beef and rice. She eagerly scoops up a large spoonful. 

“You like the food here?” I ask her. 

Carrie laughs. She has a pleasant laugh, almost like a child’s. “Love it. But, uh, I  _ have  _ been here for three years, Nadya.”

I feel my face get hot. “Right. I’d sure hope you’d have gotten used to the food by now. Otherwise you’d be very hungry!” I force a laugh, hoping she doesn’t notice how out of my element I am. 

“To be fair, most dishes are still way too spicy for me,” Carrie admits. “Patrick was the one who could handle…” she trails off and looks down at the ground.

A little unsure what to do, I reach out to put a hand on her shoulder, but quickly pull it back. I don’t know her that well. 

“Uh, still thinking of him, huh?” I say awkwardly. “It’s hard.”

Carrie nods. “I always suspected he never got over his cheating ex. After all, he seemed to develop feelings for me soon after he opened up to me about her.”

“Gosh, Carrie, that...that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Was there a third person involved with you and Duncan?”

I nod. “My dad tried to set me up with Kamal.”

“Wait a minute. Your dad tried to tell you who to be with?” Carrie demands.

“Yes. Long story. Now Duncan’s somehow got it in his head that I really chose Kamal over him, and he’s refusing to speak to me.”

“Patrick wouldn’t talk to me, either,” says Carrie. “But a quick phone call with his best friend confirmed all my suspicions. In retrospect, I just feel like I didn’t know Patrick at all. So many secrets revealed after the fact.”

“At least he is gone now. Unlike Duncan. I still have to see him. He’s a huge part of our friend group. Well, before it deteriorated into what it is now.” I sigh. 

“Hey, now,” says Carrie, her voice gentle. “You can’t talk about it like it can’t be salvaged. At least not until you try.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know, Carrie. I sure hope you have a point. But being realistic has served me far better than being optimistic.” 

My dad never changed for the better. He’d come home drunk every night when I was a teenager, and every time I’d tell myself tomorrow would be different. But come next evening, those hopes were dashed by the sound of my dad staggering around and shouting insults at me he wouldn’t remember saying. By some miracle, his stint with alcoholism went away when his job at the fire department was threatened, but by then I’d lost all hope in him as a father. And it turns out I was right to do so. 

Carrie and I sit and finish our lunches. It’s quiet, but not awkward. Kind of a companionable silence as we sit in solidarity, I guess?

“So, Carrie,” I say, “where are you from? Three years working together, and I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

She smiles. “My family all live in Auckland. I came here for a field study in college. My major’s in environmental studies. After being around all the wildlife in Indonesia, I just fell in love.” 

“Sounds like you knew exactly where you fit in, then,” I say. 

I knew exactly where I’d fit in, too. I just had to give it up. And the sad thing is that now, I can’t imagine being anywhere else. 

As if she read my mind, Carrie says, “Well, I don’t know about that. I took a lot of English classes, too. Eventually decided to double major.”

_ Wow.  _ “Carrie, that’s amazing!”

“It had its downsides, too.” Carrie gives me a wistful smile. “I sometimes wonder what direction my life would have gone in had I taken the job I was offered as a environmental journalist in Jakarta.”

“Environmental journalist? Ohmygod, Carrie, why didn’t you?” That sounds like the perfect mix between what I want to do and what my dad wants me to do. Who knew that this girl I’d been working with for three years had been offered such a fulfilling job and rejected it?

Carrie replies, “Ultimately, I chose saving wildlife over writing about it. But I’m sure  _ you  _ could be a great writer. Or maybe even an English teacher! You’re, like, so fluent.”

I blush at the compliment. “I guess I did read a lot of American classics as a teenager.” How did she know that being an English teacher was once my dream?

Carrie and I clean up. As we’re getting rid of our trash, Mikha spots us. Her face crumples and she runs inside her dad’s office. 

Uh-oh. 

******

The rest of the afternoon is uneventful. Carrie and I work together, as do Mikha and Duncan. Their conversation appears a bit strained, but at least they seem to be getting along okay enough. What is off-putting to me, though, is the way they sneak glances at me and Carrie and whisper to each other. What, she dumped me as a friend and now I’m not allowed to move on?

I guess people have gotten used to me staying exactly as I am, never doing the right thing for myself. But that is going to stop right now, even though my new behavior is clearly making people uncomfortable. Everyone else may be too stuck in their ways to deal with any sort of change around here, but I’m not. I’m going to change for my own good. 

Carrie pokes my arm. “What are you thinking about, Nadya?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

The work day goes on. Carrie is an endless wellspring of chatter, and I try to allow myself to be brought out of my shell. Duncan pointedly ignores me as he tends to Bunga, cuddling her like a baby and feeding her all the bananas her heart desires. When the sun turns orange and begins to drop behind the trees, Mikha comes out to announce that her dad will be closing up soon. 

Carrie rushes up to me. “Nadya, let’s trade phone numbers before we leave!”

My eyes dart from Carrie’s hopeful expression to Mikha’s dejected one, and after a moment of consideration, I finally give in to Carrie. “Sure!” I say, hoping there’s an appropriate amount of enthusiasm in my voice. I don’t want either of them to feel bad. 

Carrie and I swap phones and enter our numbers. Mikha watches us, her face falling more and more by the second. She looks like she is confused by something, but at the same time knows she can’t stop it. 

“Awesome!” Carrie exclaims. “Well, I’m off, but I’ll talk to you tonight, Nadya!” 

“Right. See you!” I wave after Carrie as she heads to her car. 

While Carrie pulls out of the parking lot, I turn around to leave the forest and grab my purse, but am stopped by Mikha. She grabs my hand and drags me back into the woods.

“Mikha? What do you want?” I ask, switching to Indonesian.

We stop a few meters into the forest, under a big tree the orangutans like to climb on. Mikha blushes, avoiding my eyes. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. I’m certain she’s about to either yell at me or burst into tears. But finally, much to my surprise, she puts a gentle hand on my arm.

“Look,” she begins, “I learned this morning that Duncan dumped you. I just want to say I’m sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it, Mikha,” I cut her off. I saw her talking to Duncan, and I don’t want to say anything about him that could get back to him. 

“Let me apologize!” Mikha snaps. 

Oh, so this is all about some big, dramatic apology she’s planned? Seems like she cares a hell of a lot more about theatrics than the amendments that need to be made. I  _ knew  _ there was a reason she suddenly decided to talk to me.

She takes a deep breath. “I-I’m sorry for that. I just wanted to say I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you.”

“ _ Mean  _ is an understatement, Mikha. You stopped talking to me because you were jealous of my relationship with Duncan. All the damage you did isn’t going to be repaired just because he and I broke up.”

Mikha sighs. “Right. I understand. I can’t blame you for that.”

“No, you can’t.”

Mikha raises her eyebrows, clearly surprised at my assertiveness. “I…”

“Look, Mikha, whatever apology thing you want to do here just so you can feel better, I’m not interested in any of it.” I feel a pang in my chest as I realize that’s exactly how my dad has responded to my countless apologies over the years, and I regret saying it as soon as it leaves my mouth. 

“It’s not just so I can feel better!” Mikha cries, tears flooding her eyes. 

I give her a long, surveying look, trying to figure her out. She  _ does  _ seem truly sorry, but I really don’t believe she—or anyone, for that matter—can change just like that. She’s done a complete one-eighty since the party as far as talking to me goes. One weekend is not enough time for a person to change. Many people  _ never  _ change. 

“I’m sorry, Mikha. While I appreciate the sentiment, I find it funny that you ignored me for months, only to come rushing back to talk to me when you saw me and Carrie becoming friends. So please, save it for another time. I’m not ready to hear it yet.” 

I turn on my heel, leaving Mikha gaping. 

Well, that sucked. Turning down the girl who was your best friend for years while she’s trying to apologize is no easy feat. I’m already questioning everything I said. Was I too hard on her? Should I not have stood up for myself? Did I make a mistake by telling her to save it?

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter. All thoughts of Mikha are pushed out of my mind by a blood-curdling scream.

“NOOOOO!” 

Instinctively, I whirl around and dart in the direction of the panicked voice, which is bellowing frantically from the forest. Mikha runs toward the voice, too.

“Look!” she exclaims, pointing at the tall tree we were just arguing under. About nine meters from the ground, there is a gaping hole in the wood where I now realize a sizable branch has snapped off. 

I gasp. “How did we not see that before?” 

“I don’t know! But we have to check if anyone got hurt!” 

We follow the screaming to a horrific scene: Duncan on his knees, the branch that snapped off lying on the forest floor in front of him. And on the branch lies a tiny red orangutan. The limbs bent at strange angles have reduced it to an indistinguishable pile of red fur, but the familiar cries coming from it and the agony in Duncan’s eyes tell me everything I need to know. 

“Oh, no,” I whisper. “Bunga. Duncan’s favorite orangutan.”


	18. The End of a Long Day

DUNCAN POV

This is the last straw.

My whole life is fucking falling apart. 

On top of finding out that my mom was hiding one million Australian dollars, losing the girl that meant more than anything in the world to me, and watching helplessly as my friends all started turning on each other, I’ve just discovered the one little speck of sweetness left in my life lying in a broken heap on the ground. Bunga, the little baby orangutan I’ve had a special bond with since my first year at this job, has fallen from a tree. 

Mikha and Nadya rush to my side, the bizarre feud between them forgotten. Well, at least for the moment. Nadya stares in horror, her gaze darting from Bunga to me. Is that sympathy I see in Nadya’s eyes? Mikha, meanwhile, crouches to examine Bunga. Not a second later, though, she jumps up and makes a beeline for Rinaldi’s office. 

“My dad!” she cries. “I’m gonna get my dad!” 

I can hear Mikha’s shouts echoing all the way back to the office. I’m completely useless, rooted to the spot, too dumbfounded to do anything other than stare at the lifeless heap of red fur on the ground. Before I can move or even think, Mikha comes running back into the woods, dragging Rinaldi by the hand. Eric and Kamal trail behind them. 

Rinaldi kneels down by Bunga, whose cries have now stopped. He palpates her injuries, but there’s no response from her. Rinaldi nods solemnly and sighs. 

“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do for her,” he says. “She’s gone.” 

_ What? NO! That can’t be! _

I don’t want to believe it, God I  _ refuse  _ to, even, but I just have to see for myself. I lay my ear over Bunga’s chest. No heartbeat. I place a hand over her nose. No breath. 

It’s true, then. It’s really true. The orangutan who loved to give me hugs, who devoured bananas out of my hand with an adorable gusto, who liked to hold my hand like she was a little human child, is dead. This sweet little baby is dead.

I can’t look at her body anymore. I can’t. I turn my back on her—no, I turn my back on  _ it.  _

“This is terrible!” exclaims Mikha, tears in her eyes. 

“It’s the sad reality of rehabilitating orangutans, honey,” says Rinaldi. He wraps his daughter in a comforting hug and gives her a small smile. “But there are still many other orangutans left.”

Much to my surprise, Mikha wrestles angrily out of her father’s hug. She whirls on him. “God, Dad, will you just let me be sad? For ONCE?”

_ Whoa.  _ Has Mikha been having problems in her family, too?

Rinaldi takes a step back, hurt and shock on his face. “Mikha, what do you mean?”

Mikha continues her tirade in Indonesian, but I am able to understand her. “You’re always telling me to keep my chin up, be happy, move on. But it’s not helping me move on. It just makes me wonder what is so wrong with me that I haven’t.”

Something tells me she’s not just talking about Bunga’s death anymore. 

“Mikha, I...I don’t know what to say,” says Rinaldi. 

“You don’t have to say  _ any _ thing!” Mikha snaps. “You don’t have to fix everything. You  _ can’t  _ fix everything!”

Mikha buries her face in her hands, dissolving into sobs. Kamal cautiously approaches her, and she allows him to place a hand on her shoulder.

Nadya comes over to me, too, and wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. I am too shell-shocked to either push her away or embrace her back, so I just stand there, my thoughts swirling. 

Bunga’s gone. There’s nothing we can do for her. How did this even happen? Why is Mikha so angry at her dad? Why is Kamal, of all people, comforting Mikha? Why is Nadya comforting  _ me?  _ What other secrets about my so-called friends do I not know?

“Duncan? Did you hear me?” Rinaldi’s voice brings me back to earth.

“Huh? Sorry, can you say that again?” I reply, dazed. 

“I said, you were the person who discovered Bunga. Do you have any idea how this happened?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I didn’t see what happened. I went outside to check on the orangutans one last time, and I found her on the ground.”

“We don’t know when she fell out of the tree,” adds Mikha. 

Rinaldi says, “She might have been saved. But it looks like her injuries were discovered too late.”

At this, Nadya and Mikha lock eyes with each other, their faces a mixture of anger, guilt, and realization. 

Nadya gasps. “She...she must have fallen from the tree when Mikha and I were arguing.”

_ Ohhhh. _

Rinaldi’s expression goes blank. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. “I see.”

“Uh-oh,” whispers Mikha. “He’s mad.”

“Damn right I am,” Rinaldi says to his daughter. “You know, I was hoping working together would help you guys move past the drama in your personal lives. But I can see now that I’ve been way too lenient. So, from now on, I do not want you and Nadya working together until you can get yourselves under control. Same goes for Mikha and Rasi and Nadya and Duncan.”

Well, no problem there. 

Rinaldi continues, “The rest of you are free to team up or work alone in any way you choose. But you have  _ got  _ to learn to put your personal lives aside at work.”

Nadya steps forward, making praying hands. “Rinaldi, please don’t tell my dad,” she begs. “He’ll immediately assume I got in trouble at work for talking to Duncan.” She begins to tremble.

Well, she’s hugging me now, though, isn’t she?

Rinaldi’s eyes soften. “I promise, Nadya, I won’t breathe a word to him about it.”

Nadya heaves a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“As for you, Mikha,” says Rinaldi, “I think you need a break from the orangutans. You can help Kamal with the paperwork starting tomorrow.”

“What?! Dad,  _ no!”  _ Mikha protests. 

Rinaldi gives her a stern look. 

“Only for two weeks,” Rinaldi reassures her. “But you were right earlier. I expected you to go right back to being yourself when you were dealing with difficult things. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. So I’m giving you a break from the orangutans. Consider this my...my apology.”

Rinaldi shoots a final glance at Mikha, his eyes full of guilt and sadness, before heading into his office. 

“Some apology,” grumbles Mikha. 

“I know it sucks, Mikha,” says Kamal. “You can vent to me as much as you want while we work together.”

Mikha cracks the faintest hint of a grateful smile, and the two head to the parking lot together, talking all the way.

Okay, since when did Kamal become capable of showing an inkling of compassion to anyone?

Eric claps a hand on my back, his expression sympathetic. “I’m real sorry, Duncan. I know how much that little orangutan meant to you.”

I give him a wry smile. “Thanks, Eric.”

“Want me to come over? I know Rasi’s headed out to dinner with Natasha and her husband, but it can still be fun with just the two of us, right?”

God, I could really use Rasi’s company after the day I’ve had. But he said earlier that he needed a break from people at work tonight. And honestly? I don’t blame him.

However, Eric’s company is still way better than no company. So I nod and say, “Yeah. Sure.”

“Awesome. I’ll go pick up some food and be at your place in an hour.” Eric waves goodbye and heads to his car, leaving me all alone with Nadya.

“Duncan,” Nadya says, “can we please talk now?”

  
  



	19. Nightmare

DUNCAN POV

I guess there’s no more delaying the inevitable. 

So I swallow nervously and say, “Sure, Nadya. Let’s talk.” 

I’m not sure why, but Nadya’s face crumples in anger, and for a moment she looks like she might slap me.  _ Really?  _ After she left me for Kamal? What did  _ I  _ ever do wrong? 

“First off,” Nadya begins, “You need to know that I don’t appreciate you blocking me and never giving me a chance to explain myself!” 

What could she possibly have to explain? She left me for Kamal. I think that’s a pretty clear message. Does she really have to rub it in all over again? 

I glare at her, exasperated, but cave when she senses my anger at her and her face falls. God dammit, I’ll let her explain all she wants, even if it is like rubbing salt in my wounds. 

I fold my arms across my chest and say, “Then explain, if you must.”

Nadya huffs. “I can’t believe you sometimes! You  _ owe  _ it to me to have this discussion after the way you ran out on Friday!”

As if.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Kamal cuts in, standing protectively in front of Nadya. I swallow back bile at the sight. 

“Kamal, didn’t you leave?” Nadya asks. 

He explains, “I was talking to Mikha, but she had to go home to babysit her brother. Anyway, I overheard you two and thought you might need my help, Nadya.”

I glare at him. “You know, Nadya may be spineless, but she certainly doesn’t need  _ you  _ butting in!” 

“Hey!” Nadya exclaims. 

Kamal frowns at me. “That was uncalled for, Duncan.” 

“Your presence is uncalled for!” I yell back.

Kamal doesn’t even react. He just stands there, shaking his head at me like I’m a misbehaving toddler or something. Could he  _ be  _ any more condescending?

“Say what you will about me,” he replies, “but Nadya isn’t spineless. She’s been  _ abused,  _ for God’s sake. And for you to act like that is a personal shortcoming on her part is flat-out victim blaming.” 

_ What the hell??  _

These words coupled with his condescending face are too much for me. I explode.

“Yes, yes, give me the lecture on how to treat Nadya right, since you know how to do it so much better than I do! And while you’re at it, rub it in my face how I’ll never get that chance again because of you, why don’t you?”

Kamal’s expression betrays his surprise, and even what looks like sympathy. Which somehow only makes things worse. I slink over to him, get in his face, and snarl, “I know the truth about you, Kamal. You’re pretending to defend Nadya, but you’re really just making excuses for her doing nothing about her situation. And that’s because deep down, you’re just like Budi, and you’ll do anything to keep Nadya dependent on both him and on you.” 

Deep down, I fear he’s right. That I’ve been blaming Nadya for something that isn’t her fault and consequently have thrown away my chances with her forever. But even if it’s the truth, I won’t hear it from him. Never in a million  _ fucking  _ years.

Kamal glares back at me. “Both Nadya and I know what you are saying about me is not true.” His words heap a mountain of sizzling coals onto the fire of fury already roaring inside me. 

Nadya adds, “And if you really believe it  _ is  _ true, then why are you leaving me to such a horrible fate?” 

The tough bravado I didn’t even know I was trying to keep up finally crumbles. I still love this girl. I would never let anything bad happen to her. But she made her decision. 

“I would still save you from danger any day, Nadya,” I say, “but I can’t save you from your own bad choices.”

Nadya recoils as if I just slapped her. I feel an inkling of regret and open my mouth to apologize. 

Before I can, though, she marches right up to me, getting in my face. “Okay, fine. You want to know what  _ bad decisions  _ I made? I made friends with Carrie all on my own because I realized I wasn’t getting the support I needed. And I followed Kamal's plan at the party to pretend to be with him to placate my dad. Kamal offered to sneak me over to see you the next time I had a ‘date’ with him.”

Well, that was unexpected.

Nadya continues, “That was the good news I was trying to tell you. But you ran out and ignored me!”

“Can you blame me? I thought your good news was that you left me for him!” 

Realization spreads across Nadya’s face. “I guess I can see how you would think that.” 

“It’s understandable,” adds Kamal.

Nadya shakes her head. “But you couldn’t be more wrong, Duncan. We had a plan to trick my dad into thinking I was dating Kamal like he wanted until I could somehow move out.”

“And you mean to tell me Kamal was helping?”

“The plan was his, Duncan. He’s a good friend. Really.”

Kamal nods, “I promise, all I wanted was to help Nadya find a way to be with you and escape her dad. I’m sorry we didn’t warn you before the party. I can see how that must have looked to you.”

I scrutinize Kamal, searching for some hint of deceit in his eyes that I know, just  _ know  _ must be there, but I find nothing. 

“This is insane!” I yell. “First, Mikha’s angry at her dad and I can’t imagine why. She never lets on when she needs her friends. Then, the guy I thought was my enemy claims to actually have been trying to help me. The girl I thought left me for him was teaming up with him to find a way to be with me. I thought I’d just have to struggle all alone. And now I don’t know what to believe anymore, or who to trust, or who my real friends are. Not even who my own mother was!” 

Nadya throws her arms around me. “Oh, Duncan.”

I gently peel her off of me. She steps back, hurt. 

“Please,” I say. “I need to process all of this. Alone.”

Nadya nods. “Of course.”

“Take your time,” adds Kamal. 

I forgot he was there. I glance at him and blush, suddenly embarrassed at my outburst.

I turn back to Nadya. “And I promise I’ll stop freezing you out, Nadya,” I say. “But I can’t promise you to define what we are right now. I still don’t know what to make of this. What to make of  _ anything  _ going on in my life.”

“I understand. Now isn’t the time to get back together,” she says. Her expression is sad but resigned. 

I nod once, quickly look away from her face before it can become blurry, and dart into the woods.

  
  


********

_ With tears running down her face, Mom faces me, taking my hand in hers. We’re standing on Uncle Jacob’s driveway. I’m eleven years old again, without a care in the world other than being poor. But I’m used to that. What I’ll never get used to, though, is life without Mom.  _

_ “When will I see you again, Mom?” I ask. _

_ Mom pushes back the one lock of hair that’s always falling in my face and says, “I don’t know, Duncan.” _

_ And then she stands up and takes the arm of a man that I didn’t even notice was standing by her. He is a slender man dressed all in black, but his scheming, evil eyes are darkest of all. I’ve never seen him before in my life, but somehow, even at eleven, I know exactly who he is.  _

_ James Watts.  _

_ For some unknown reason, the very thought of his name makes my stomach churn. I don’t know who he is or what he’s done. But I do know one thing: I cannot trust him.  _

_ Mom, however, squeezes his arm and gives me one last sad smile. “I love you, Duncan. But I—we—James and I—have to go now.” _

_ She turns and allows James to lead her away.  _

_ “No, Mom!” I plead. Don’t go! Please don’t go.” _

_ But my cries fall on deaf ears. Mom and James disappear into the distance.  _

_ “Hey, now, it’ll be okay,” a voice comes from behind me. I feel a large, rough hand on my shoulder, and turn to see Uncle Jacob standing beside me, wearing the same jean cutoffs and T-shirt that he had on the day I moved in with him.  _

_ “How do you know?” I ask him.  _

_ “You’ll find a way. Now, I’ve left everything in my will to my godson, so you’ll have to make it on your own. But you’ll manage. I know you will.” _

_ I reach out to throw my arms around his middle, but he, too, begins to fade.  _

_ “No!” I cry. “Please, Uncle Jacob, help me!” _

_ But he’s gone.  _

_ ****** _

I lurch upright in bed, disoriented at once again being in my twenty-two-year-old body. 

_ Don’t be ridiculous, Duncan,  _ I think.  _ You’re not a kid anymore. _

I can’t stay in this room. I have to get out of here. 

Instinctively, I bolt out of the house, as if running away from the upsetting dream. The moonlit trees whip by me as I run far into the forest, and I wish it would just swallow me up and save me from the nightmare that is my life. 

Great, so now I’m having  _ dreams  _ about everything I’ve lost, too? Wasn’t just losing it enough? 

I wonder what could possibly be next. Maybe the night of the party when Nadya and I broke up will replay itself in my subconscious over and over again. And the drama that our friend group has deteriorated into will play itself out every day at work for sure. Maybe there’s no going back. Maybe this is the new normal. 

There was a very short time in my life when I felt like I could trust people. After eighteen years of believing all humans were inherently evil, I was finally able to trust them and build valuable relationships. But now I am starting to lose that ability I worked so hard to gain. People can say they are good, and maybe even do good, but that doesn’t change the fact that very often, people are not what they seem. 

And that thought alone is terrifying. 

__


	20. Accountability

MIKHA POV

“This is so unfair,” I grumble as I enter the office with tea for myself and Kamal for the fourteenth day in a row. “I’ve learned my lesson. No more letting my feelings interfere with work. Why is my dad turning this into a jail sentence?”

I hand Kamal a tea. He takes a long swig as if trying to hide some kind of expression. Annoyed, I tap my fingers on my own cup, looking at him expectantly.

When he sets his cup on the table, his smile is teasing. “Am I really that bad to be around?”

“N..no,” I stammer. I feel my cheeks burn, and I quickly turn my back to hide them. “I’m just ready for my dad to stop exiling me to working inside. But I get it. He really wants me to learn from this. And I have.”

Kamal asks, “You know what else your dad said that really stood out to me?”

“What?” I turn around to face him again. 

“He apologized for not helping you with your own struggles sooner. He owned up to the fact that he could have done more.”

“Hmm, maybe that’s true.”

But I still don’t like being punished for two weeks straight. I want my old job back. 

Complaining won’t finish the paperwork, though. I heave a sigh and take a folder of papers from Kamal, and we sit in companionable silence filing them for twenty minutes. I won’t lie; even though I’m still mad about being punished, part of me is glad I don’t have to work outside when Nadya and Carrie are suddenly best friends and everyone is angry at someone else.

“Oh, look, someone better tell Nadya that Mikha is in the office trying to steal her new _boy_ friend!” taunts Eric right on cue from the other side of the door. 

“Don’t look at me,” Rasi’s voice answers, still as frosty as it was when we fought the night of the party. “I’m not speaking to either of them.”

“Okay, that’s it!” I jump up out of my seat and lurch over to the door. “This ‘not speaking’ BS has _got_ to stop!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Kamal holds me back with a gentle hand on my shoulder. “If you’re going to try to put an end to it, at least don’t do it in anger.”

I brush his hand off, glaring hard at him. His responding gaze is calm and even, and his eyes hold mine until I sigh in resignation and return to my seat. He’s right, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing me say it. 

I slump in my chair, burying my face in my hands. “This is all my fault anyway.”

Kamal, who almost always has something to say about everything, is for once silent. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. He must want to reassure me that this whole friend group mess isn’t my fault, but he’d only be lying to both himself and to me. I started this drama, and we both know it. 

At last Kamal breaks the silence. “Everyone has some responsibility in this, Mikha. There’s accountability to be shared.”

“Accountability?”

“Yes. I, for example, began dating Nadya with selfish motives in mind. And I haven’t exactly been helping either you or her for the right reasons either.”

Uh-oh. What is he getting at? Was I wrong to befriend him this whole time?

“What did you do, Kamal?’ I frown. I eye the distance between myself and the door, already planning a not-so-subtle escape if necessary.

“Look,” he replies. “I’m not good at talking to girls. And I saw a blind date as an easy way to find one.”

Ew. “You’re right,” I say. “That’s not very nice.”

Kamal continues, “But when I learned how badly Nadya’s dad treated her, I realized I didn’t want to be like him. I didn’t want to use people to get my own way anymore.”

“But I don’t understand. That’s a good thing.”

“I helped her because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her to bend to the will of someone like Budi. Even..even helping you had its benefits for me.”

“Kamal, what are you saying?”

“Don’t worry, no selfish, twisted motives over here. It’s just that helping you eases the guilt I feel about my brother’s last words.” He looks away at the end of that last sentence.

“Oh, Kamal,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”

He nods, facing the wall for a long moment. I step forward to put a hand on his arm, but decide against it. 

Kamal stares hard at the wall, showing no sign of turning around to face me. When it becomes clear that he isn’t going to make eye contact any time soon, I say awkwardly, “Um, I don’t know how much you want to talk about this, but—”

“I don’t,” he snaps, whirling on me. His dark eyes have gone so cold they are now black daggers, piercing me all the way to my core. I flinch. 

Kamal’s face falls for just a second as an almost imperceptible twinge of guilt crosses it, and he sighs and says, “I’m sorry. I do want to tell you about it. Just...not here. Join me for coffee after work and we’ll talk?”

What the hell? Is he asking me out on a date? After all he knows I’ve been through with my ex? Wait a minute, has this whole being my friend thing just been a scheme to suck me in while I’m vulnerable? 

“You do know how this looks, right, Kamal?” I ask, narrowing my eyes and hoping I look just the perfect amount of skeptical and not outright paranoid. Somehow, I feel like Dewi wouldn’t approve of that. I imagine her in her therapist’s chair, shaking her head at me with a concerned, motherly frown as she prescribed me medications for my paranoia. Or worse, sent me to a _dukun_ to exorcise my inner demons or some other black magic crap.

Kamal clears his throat, bringing me back to the present. 

“My apologies,” he says. “I didn’t consider how this would appear.”

Sure he didn’t. 

“Look, how about we meet Friday after work?” I suggest, probably against my better judgment. “I’ve got therapy today.”

“That’s fine,” says Kamal. “Whenever you’re free.”

What a perfect gentleman he is.

For the next half hour, we return to our respective stacks of papers. We finish our tea and file in silence. As I get up to shred some old documents, I say, “Oh, and Kamal?”

“Yeah?

“This isn’t a date.”

“Got it. Just friends.”


	21. Musings of a Confused Therapy Client

MIKHA POV

“And then he asked me to hang out, just me and him!” I vent to Dewi in therapy later that afternoon. “I have no idea what his deal is.”

Dewi nods sagely, giving me a gentle smile that only a mother with years of experience would give. “I see. And what did you say to him?”

“I agreed to meet him. But I told him it wasn’t a date.” I scowl down at my shoes, indignant. 

“You seem very adamant about not getting too close to this young man, Mikha.”

Ugh, obvious much? Why does she always point out every single thing I'm doing like it has some sort of significance?

“Well, it’s too soon after Arif. Besides, dates don’t buy confidence.” I recite this little saying she wrote down for me on a sticky note two weeks ago almost religiously. Since then, the sticky notes with that saying have multiplied exponentially. On my bathroom mirror where I do my makeup every morning, on my nightstand where I charge my phone, on the steering wheel of my car, hell, even on my _pillow_ ; you name it, there’s a sticky note there. Dates don’t buy confidence. Dates don’t buy confidence. Dates don’t buy goddamn confidence! 

Dewi jots something down on her notepad, watching me from under her beautiful long eyelashes as she says, “That’s a very different point of view from the one you exhibited during our first session. In your first session, you felt abandoned and lost without someone to call your boyfriend.”

I wince at the reminder. I will never be that girl again. I will never allow myself to even _think_ about being that girl again.

Dewi asks, “What do you think brought about this change?” 

I bite my lip. So much has changed, I don’t even know where to begin. And honestly, I feel a little put on the spot. I know I’ve changed, but how will I ever pinpoint exactly where it began?

“I...I…” I trail off, then shake my head. Ugh! Why is therapy so much _work?_

“Do you feel you have a hard time trusting this young man?” Dewi asks. 

Doesn’t she get it? I’m going to therapy to learn to stop being so goddamn needy, and here comes Kamal, dropping the roadblock of his friendship in my already arduous journey to recovery!

I open my mouth, but the words _yes I do_ die on my lips. 

Dewi nods, as if my silence is all the confirmation she needs. 

“That’s certainly food for thought for the next session, Mikha,” she says. She stands up and extends her right hand to me. 

I clasp it in a polite handshake, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible. On the inside, though, my mind is going into an anxiety spiral. She can’t just end the session on that note! How can I improve when she hasn’t told me the answers to all the unprocessed problems I’ve just dug up?

Dewi shows me her calendar for next week, and we set up my next session for a week from today. As soon as she and her next client disappear behind the door, I huff and rage-walk to my car, letting the door slam behind me on my way out. Somehow, every time I leave therapy, I end up with more questions than I started with. 

_More questions than I started with._ Those are the very same words Duncan said to me the other night, when I had him over so he could update me on the situation with the money mystery. Duncan said there had been a lot of dead ends, and Sukarno and the other detectives were no closer to finding out where the million dollars came from than when the money was discovered. When I asked Duncan what _he_ believed was the truth, he’d listed endless possibilities as to what his mom might have been covering up, analyzing every single little thing he remembered her doing when he was just a kid living with her, until he’d finally collapsed into my arms in a crying, shaking panic attack. As I squeezed him tight, just as I did on his first day at ORP so long ago when we found him after he ran off into the woods, my heart sank. I felt overwhelmingly guilty for even asking him what he believed, for going down that road at all when it was such a sensitive topic. Speculation didn’t help his anxiety. 

So why couldn’t I stop speculating about Kamal, when doing so would only make me anxious?

In all fairness, he was quite a shady character when he came to work at ORP. He preyed on Nadya’s vulnerability to score himself a date. He tried to get me to open up to him in my time of need when my brief, limited interactions with him had been anything but positive. And now he was talking in riddles and inviting me out with him. I did plenty of research on red flags in relationships after Dewi and I spent an entire session breaking down all the reasons why Arif was a piece of shit. So if Kamal thinks I’m completely colorblind to red flags since I let my ex disrespect me for as long as I did, he is in for a rude awakening. Possibly in the form of my fist connecting with his impeccably smooth, soft face. 

And yet there’s just something so... _genuine_ about him. I can’t quite place what it is, but there’s something in his voice every time he speaks that reassures me that he’s telling the truth. Something in his expression that leads me to believe that despite the cold, superior front he put up, all he really needed was someone to listen to what he had to say. Not someone to knock him down a few pegs. 

Ugh. I have no freaking clue.

If only I could call Nadya right now, and ask her what she thought about Kamal. Not having Nadya to talk to kills me. I know it’s all my fault, but I can’t help but resent her just a _teeny_ bit for not at least talking to me by now. I want my friend back. I know I pushed her away. But as soon as I was ready to talk, she wasn’t. 

I’m so lost in my thoughts that the ten minute drive home feels like both seconds and hours at the same time. When I enter the house, Angga bounds over to the door, jumping up and down.

“Mihka! Mikha! Guess what?” he exclaims, grabbing my hand and dragging me into the family room. The TV is on, playing a kid cartoon I’ve never seen before. Angga’s toy cars are scattered all over the floor. 

“Whoa! Watch where you’re going!” I kick a bright yellow toy truck out of the way just before I trip on it. 

Angga gasps. “Sorry!”

Once I catch my footing, I realize what Angga was so eager to show me. A little brunette girl in a long green skirt was lying on her stomach on the ground, wheeling one of Angga’s toy cars on the ground. She sees me and abandons her toy car, staring at Angga with wide, surprised eyes.

“Mikha, this is Rizka,” Angga says proudly. “We’re watching her favorite show right now. And Rizka, this is Mikha!” Angga throws his arms around my waist. I smile and hug him back. 

Rizka abandons her toy car to stare at me in wonder. “Wow, Angga, your older sister is BEAUUUUtiful!” she cries.

“I told you so!” replies Angga. They both crack up laughing and rolling around on the floor, sending cars wheeling in every direction in the process. 

“Don’t make too much of a mess, you two!” I say. I try to sound serious, but dissolve into giggles myself the second I leave the family room.

“So,” I say as I approach my mom, who is preparing a huge pot of vegetable soup in the kitchen. “I didn’t know Angga had a play date today.”

“How did you not know?” my mom chops up some leafy greens at lightning speed and dumps them into the soup. “Angga’s crazy about Rizka. It’s all he’s talked about since last week.”

Damn. I really have been out of the loop since the breakup. 

“Yep, our little boy is already growing up!” my dad looks up from his nature book, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. 

“Mikha has a playdate next week, too,” Angga announces as he and Rizka bound into the kitchen and help themselves to crackers from the cabinet. “With a guy from work.”

“Angga!” I exclaim. I whip my head around to stare at my brother, mouth agape. He only shrugs and resumes his play time. 

Eyes narrowed, I glance from my mom to my dad searchingly, the question crystal clear in my expression. My dad gives me a small smile as if to say _Guilty_ as he hides behind his book. 

Note to self: never go venting to Dad when a guy who’s suspiciously invested in helping me asks me to hang out. 


End file.
